You wake up around 3 o’clock at night to the sound of your fellow rider chocking. Within a few short seconds you realize that the sounds emanating from the other side of the room are actually very prominently the sounds of a cyclist snoring. There are risks to touring with a group of guys you don’t know all too well and they are all more than worth it.
The whole adventure, later to be named The Vicious Circle, started with an email in which a friend asked if you’re interested in an off-road tour around the city. A full loop he promised, with almost no paved roads what so ever. It nearly sounded too good to be true which is why you immediately expressed interest and secured a spot. As is often in life, things got hectic, travel was involved and you almost forgot about it, until the email with the GPS tracks and the road sheet arrived. The plan was a 4 day ride, each day ending in a different corner of the surrounding land: east, north, south and then west. On paper it looked sublime.
The tour started on Thursday morning, not too early and not too late, in a small town just south of Berlin. Both groups, the Berlin crew and the Leipzig crew, met at the train station and after a quick round of introductions and a coffee you were on the way. 18.5 kilometer later, while riding on a nice forest road just south of Potsdam, a tree branch decided to jump into the rear triangle of the Hunter taking with him the derailleur hanger and breaking a spoke in the middle. Making hardware-related decisions on the trail is never a good sign, but the crew put on their thinking caps, turned a few screwed and within 15 minutes Hunter was turned into a single speed off-road touring machine. This helped releasing the crew from their desire to leave no man behind and you ride to the train station, head straight to the local bike shop, change the broken spoke, replace the derailleur hanger and ride out to the overnight location planned for day 1. Someone once said “yes we can” and he was right.
The next three days are spent enjoying the great outdoors in the lovely state of Brandenburg – the German state that surrounds the capital. You ride on nicely packed gravel roads, single tracks, forest dirt, military plates that are probably there since the days our country was split into two, thick sea sand that’s nearly impassable, a few proper cycling paths and probably a few more paved roads than were planned. You are often tempted by the silence in the woods and tend to let the group plow ahead while you hang back, taking pictures and trust that at some point a cafe or country-side bakery will stop the pace of the team. This system never fails.
The tour manages to find the most exciting and interesting non-roads in the backyard of the capital. The whole crew is elated as you realize, on day three, that somehow you managed to climb 1,000 meters in an area that’s well known for his flatness while also discovering beautiful lakes and fall foliage. Each accommodations are an improvement on the previous night which turns the whole adventure into almost luxury touring, but that just means that the crew is more energetic the next day and is rolling with gusto onto the next track. By day 4 discussions about the next tour, planned for next year, are already underway and as you roll into the same train station the tour started off, you feel a sense of nostalgia before you even dismount the bike. Such tours, with minimal yet epic mechanical failures (two derailleur!), with a solid crew, with enough time for snacks and photography, a rag-tag collection of off-road steel rigs (and one aluminum bike), and beautiful nature are after all exactly why we ride.
You wake up in Borgarnes, western Iceland. The wind is pounding the camper and the tent that was pitched the night before right by your camper is now gone, its inhabitants curled up in their car. Gashes of wind manage to shake the camper so much that you both agree to stay in your PJs and drive about 25 kilometers to a much more civilized camping area you accidentally found the night before. The wind in Iceland is an element to be taken into serious consideration.
Only 6 days have gone by and you are already attached to the Cozy Camper highlander you rented in Reykjavik. It has been christened Claus Camper and is commonly referred to as Claus. Claus is a Hyundai Starex 4WD van that has been converted into a very cozy and comfortable camper while keeping its ability to roam the highlands and various F-roads without fearing for one’s life or invalidating the rental insurance. In fact, after a few nights in Claus, you both agree that Claus is really the only viable way to explore this beautiful country. Claus took some getting used to as the only rental cars you’ve ever driven were in the U.S. of A where cars are automatic and Claus is one of those manual transmission vehicles, but given the 1780 km you drove, getting used to manual was no biggie.
After landing at Keflavik airport with Iceland’s “cheap” (nothing is cheap in Iceland) and friendly airline – WOW Air you take the Fly Bus to Reykjavik where the owner of Cozy Camper awaits with Claus and hands over the keys and instructions. The final payment is done on site using one of many mobile credit card readers you will meet in Iceland and you take off. Looking at the map, the nearest and largest body of water that is not the ocean seems to be Þingvallavatan and since it’s already early afternoon and you practically have no plan, you purchase some provisions to stock up Claus’ refrigerator and head out of town. You arrive to Þingvellir a short hour later and camp at the first camp ground of many. Every evening follows the same ritual – you arrive at a camp site, pay the ranger about 1,200 Icelandic Krone per head and park Claus.
Leading up to this amazing adventure you discussed the idea and suggestion of a friend to rent a 4WD car and sleep in a tent. The lady injected some sense into the misguided and mostly romantic notion that you are someone who could build a tent and enjoy sleeping in it, which is how you came to rent Claus and leave such things as tents and cooking utensils behind (Claus came with everything one needs to cook). As you set up camp in Þingvellir, an act that involved parking the Claus somewhere basically, you realize just how much this was the correct decision. By the time you wake up the next day, counting a few tents less in your surrounding and seeing other road warriors sleeping in their car seats, you really appreciate that decision making process that took place all these weeks ago.
The first day on the road therefore starts in Þingvellir, a fascinating location both geographically and historically. You literally park Claus in a valley that lies between the two continental plates – the North Atlantic and the Euro-Asia. Þingvellir is also the location where the Alþing general assembly (i.e. a parliament) was established around 930. Pretty much every historical event of any political significance to Iceland took place in this general assembly. The location is as mesmerizing as it is powerful. Being able to actually see the North American continental plate ends and the Euro-Asian begins is a nice way to understand a little more about our little planet. At the same time, seeing the place where the vikings used to gather and democratically make decisions is a powerful reminder of the foundations of Northern Europe. Democracy and community are ingrained into the European continental fabric. Taking all these in and snapping loads of pictures, you jointly decide to head to the highlands while stopping on the way by two popular locations: Geysir and Gullfoss, the first is probably the world’s most famous geyser – all other geysers on the planet are named after that one, and the second is a picturesque waterfall, one of many to be seen in Iceland.
And just like this you leave civilization behind and start the drive up the highlands. This is where the road gets…interesting. Iceland, with a population of 320,000 inhabitants, harsh weather and a great deal of active volcanos, approaches roads in a slightly different manner than the rest of Europe. There is one road the circulates the whole country. It is called The 1 and is almost continuously asphalted. Then there are local roads which are often packed gravel and then there are the F-roads. The roads to the highlands are the latter. Here one could expect anything – rivers crossing the road, streams flowing inside the road, huge boulders, puddles that could cross the whole path and many areas where you have no chance to spot the driver coming across from you. These were our preferred roads.
After some 90km up the F-road you get to the camp ground you intended to reach and are excited to see that the location has a small restaurant that serves fish soup, probably the best one you tasted during the whole trip, as well as set dinner. Menus are for civilization. You park the Claus and set your priorities straight – get into a bathing suit and hit the hot-pot. Hot-pots are a bad translation which you assume comes from Icelandic and are referred to by the locals everywhere. The term is similar to the word Handy in German which actually means mobile phone, but somehow takes on an English word that has no direct relationship to what it actually describes. Since hot-pots are, for all intended purpose, a dish served in Chinese restaurants, you have a hard time referring to heated bodies of water as such. The natural pool at Hveravellir has three large plastic pipes leaning into it. One pipe brings in water at almost boiling temperature while the other two spill colder water. All water sources are natural and as we quickly learn, all water, hot and cold, is brought directly from the earth on this magical island.
So you spring into the water, push the colder pipe away and let the pool heat up and enjoy a beautiful evening in an outdoor! heated! natural pool! After about an hour you are joined by a few more travelers and discover that you are surrounded by other Europeans. You take your leave from the first hot-pot, change, stroll through a steamy and very active volcano area, grab some food and loosely plan the coming day. You know that you still have about 100km to get out of the highlands and into the Northern part of Iceland, but after that the plan is cloudy. You decide to postpone the decision and just agree to see how you feel when you get to the end of the F-road.
The next day starts with a 100km drive through the highlands on F-road 35. The northern part of the road is much better than the southern part so you make good time and stop for a few photo opportunities. Right before the road reaches the ring road, you spot a massive power station and a plaque that explains that Landsvirkjun is responsible for 75% of the power produced in Iceland! After a short drive you reach the northern part of the ring road and start heading east. You pass Iceland’s second largest city – Akureyri, a city of some 18,000 inhabitants and continue eastwards. Since a day without a waterfall seems like a wasted day, you stop at Goðafoss (waterfall of the gods) and take the “other” route to the waterfall. As in pretty much every waterfall in Iceland the power of the water is palpable by just standing across the fall and the almost green color of the water is breathtaking. Further east you drive until you reach the shores of lake Myvatn and the tiny settlement Reykjahlíð. Even though the town is smaller than petit there are several camping sites to choose from and you settle on the one with the lake front view and the lush green grass (Bjarg Campsite). Once the location for the night is identified, you move on to the next essential aspect of your stay – finding the nearest hot-pot. As it turns out, and this was entirely unknown to you, the Myvatn Natural Baths are the northern version of the world-famous Icelandic Blue Lagoon. As you drive to the baths you can close your eyes and let your nose do the navigating. The area smells of sulfur and clouds of steams raise everywhere in the area. The bath is huge and as opposed to the previous night, is not so private. You endure the crowd and look for the source of the hot water. In the east corner of the bath you find the source and enjoy a good area in this beautiful location, watching the sun set over the lake.
Now what could make a hot-pot experience even better? A great dinner post the hot-pot. Again, as if by accident, you let the Internet recommend a location for dinner and end up in a farm house called Vogafjos Cowshed Cafe. The restaurant shares the same building in which the cows are housed. You can watch the cows eat while they can watch you. The food is practically the best example of farm to table you have ever experienced and the fish and local cheese is delicious. After such an exciting day you have no problems falling asleep back in the campground and sleep in pretty late on Sunday.
When you wake up on Sunday you realize that you need to spend a day in the area, not a bad realization to be had on a sunny Sunday morning. The reason being that you managed to forget one of the most important elements of a great adventure at home – a charger for the digital camera! Since the only possibility of finding a charger is in Akureyri, and since it is Sunday, a day on which the shops are closed, you just have to hang out in the area. And so, the day turns into an awesome combination of things that you could only really do in Iceland: a walk up a volcano, a quick photoshot in the cave in which Jon Snow, one of the heroes in HBO’s Game of Thrones, looses his virginity to Ygritte (the place is called Grjótagjá, good luck spelling that in google maps), a walk to the most powerful waterfall in Europe (Dettifoss) and a magical nature stroll in Asbyrgi canyon. The beauty and power of nature, all in a single day, were almost overwhelming. The day also included a nice F-road trek from Dettifoss to Asbyrgi following the rule of “if the road ends, you just continue driving”. Evening rolls in and so is the Claus. You park in the Husavik camp ground which is organized and friendly, but is somewhat disappointing as it is right at the end of the town. The town is clearly focused on tourism and its tiny harbor is housing at least 3 different whale watching companies which is impressive for a town of 2,237 inhabitants.
You get out of town on Monday morning and head back to Akureyri, find a charger for the camera, and align the stars back to their natural order. Over fish and chips lunch, you decide to drive across the north to the western Fjords and camp in the town of Holmavik. The distance between Akureyri and Holmavik is some 350km and after you leave the ring road behind and turn into road 61 and 68, some of which were just gravel roads, you start enjoying the beautiful scenery of the western fjords. The land is immense and is constantly spilling into the fjords. A few farm houses dot the coast line and the occasional church impresses a sense that this isolated community is indeed a community. Here and there you spot tiny harbors one of which is your final destination of the day – the lovely town of Holmavik.
By the time you arrive, you are exhausted and the peace in the Claus is at stake – you just drove over 400 kilometers and the only thing to do is to hit the hot-pot that just happens to be build into the community pool, that’s just happened to be 20 meters away from the camp ground where you and Claus are parked. You enjoy a dip in the three heated pools and observe some of the locals socialize. The hot-pots, practically available to every community, are really where it seems that Iceland’s citizens come together. Folks sit in the hot-pot, chat, change tubs (there seem to always be three different heat levels) together and leave around the same time. You leave the pool shortly before closing time and are too exhausted to eat anything more than a few crackers with cheese.
Tuesday starts with coffee outside. Someone, even though by the time you arrive to the camp ground the previous night you were practically delirious, you managed to park right by one of the picnic tables in the grounds so breakfast and coffee is served outside. You then march into the center of the 15-houses community and explore the museum of Icelandic Sorcery and Witchcraft. You learn that in Iceland, almost no women were burned at the stake for being witches, but that men were the subject of prosecution. You also learn that there is a thing called Necropants, that’s actually on display at the museum and is pretty disturbing. After this little culture shock and a stroll through the harbor, you head to the next stop – a hot-pot that’s said to be on the side of the road and is free. And indeed, the guidebook did not lie. The three blue tubs are kissing the Atlantic and are also positioned about 2 meters from the only “road” (which services about 2 cars per hour). You hop in and spend a good hour before changing back and heading inland. The ride takes you on an F-road up the huge mountain that’s looming over the fjord. As you climb up you notice that the temperature drops significantly and the scene becomes bigger than life, covered in patches of snow as well as plenty of waterfalls. Cars are nowhere to be seen which suits you just fine as you can just stop everywhere and take pictures. The wind is harsh and the weather is kissing the freezing zone. You are therefore pretty happy when you get to the paved road that leads to the legendary Laugar in Western Iceland. You camp here for the night, failing to find anywhere to pay for the stay, but finding the outdoors hotpot and a very windy camping area.
Laugar is deeply rooted in the nordic sagas and has a lovely outdoors hot-pot that’s just too inviting. So the lady spends her morning dipping while you trek up the mountain to get some exercise and photograph the waterfalls. By the time you leave you realize that Claus is the last vehicle in the camp ground. The next stop is further west along F-road 54, which runs parallel to the Hvammsfjord, destination: the lovely fisherman town of Stykkisholmur where Walter Mitty takes off in a helicopter! The town is indeed as lovely as the film makes it seem and lunch there turns out to be another great Icelandic meal. You then walk up to the orange lighthouse and enjoy the view of the fjord and the ocean before getting back to Claus and heading south. You cross the peninsula on the 56 which turn into the 54 and then go looking for a hot-pot in nature. The instructions you find on the Internet are somewhat vague and include basically a turn off, a distance, and the fact that one has to go through two gates. You find the first gate realizing that this is likely to be the gate to a property of a farmer living in this remote and obviously volcanic part of the world. You take your chances, drive through the property and cross the second gate. The road ends at what seems to be the slopes of a volcano and you go looking for the hot-pot on foot. After a few wrong turns you find the pool, submerged into the ground, clearly marked by a primitive step ladder leading into it. Your excitement is somewhat subdued when you see that the water is green with some algae and that another car is approaching. The second car, packed with a group of Belgians, is determined to experience this wonder of nature, but you decide that getting sick on the last days in Iceland might be ill-advised so you turned the Claus around and drive back out to the road.
Your compensation comes in the form of Borgarnes public pool which includes, of course, three heated hot-pots and some water slides! A day that ends with hot-pots is always a better day, however, the camp ground does not seem appealing and after a quick consultation with the lonely planet guidebook you are on the way to a location some 15 km out of town. You arrive in darkness and are told that the camp ground does not exist anymore, but that another camp ground exist some 10 kilometers up the road. You continue the drive and find a very nice looking camp ground, with heated bathrooms no less and one small hiccup – there are no other folks in the area, no campers and no obvious owner. You take the joint decision to drive back to Borgarnes and sleep there. Sleeping alone, without any other travelers in sight seems too risky in a land that hosts trolls and Necropants.
And on the last day? More waterfalls and a long drive through an F-road crossing a huge mountain range at close to zero degrees weather brings you back to where you started. You descend into Þingvellir from the North leaving the gravel road behind and returning to civilization. You drive into Reykjavik in the early hours of the afternoon and meet the owner of the Cozy Camper who collects Claus and is happy to hear that you enjoyed the adventure so much. The adventure is one for the books and you both admit that this one, with its nature, hot-pots and freedom, will be hard to beat. But you’re going to have to try.
I’ve been digging what seems to be a very open minded road bike scene in Colorado of late. Other than the obvious Moots, my current object of affection, perhaps as my road bike project is getting on the way, is Mosaic Cycles. There are others in Colorado, like Kent Eriksen, but I find the Mosaic road bikes hella cheeky and sexy. They scream more adventure and mischief than most road bikes one sees.
As someone whose job is to “make Internet” it is mind blowing that last Saturday, I left the house at 6AM wearing a wind jacket, gloves I know not to work under 5 degrees Celsius, and no thermo protection. It is also unexplainable how, for the first time in basically forever, I actually ate properly before a long ride, but, and I can not emphasize this enough, was dressed for a completely different day. And so, the first brevet of the season began.
“Getting it right” is really quiet simple in a brevet:
I failed miserably on the last part. Earlier in the week I spoke to one of the other riders and mentioned to him that I am going to install fenders on the Mudxium. He commented that I should not install them because if I do the rain will come and if I don’t it will be dry. My response was sadly to tempt the devil and I answered quiet tongue in cheek “I rather plan for the worst and hope for the best.”
On Friday as I was gazing outside the office window it was very obvious that spring has arrived. The weather was warm, the sun was shining and not a cloud was in the sky. I rode in the early evening wearing a light jacket and t-shirt and my brain shifted to “it’s spring time”. There was a “woohooo” and “finally!!!” somewhere in there as well. 12 hours later, winter returned with temperatures grazing the freezing and persistent drizzle that just got everywhere. About an hour into the ride, roughly when we left the city borders, it started raining. It stopped raining roughly when we returned to the city – some 212 km later. At that point I had no sensation left in my body and as I was trying to snack on a salad at the end of the ride the fork kept falling down. Sven who finished earlier and was already post shower had a fine giggle watching me shivering and dropping my fork repeatedly.
Well at least I had fenders.
There is a lesson to be learned here and it is rather simple. When drinking coffee on the morning of a brevet, do yourself a favor – call up your favorite weather app, check the weather report. Look for answers to essential questions like “how many hours of sunshine are expected today?” “What is the chances of rain and how much rain is expected?” “When is sunset and am I going to be riding in the dark?” (the last question is a little silly since after Brevet number 1, you can plan to ride in the dark in each Brevet). With the answers to these questions you decide on what to wear and do yourself a favor – bring extra gloves.
Well at least I had fenders.
The bike is the brain child of a Seattle rider that also runs the Tumblr Bikefukr and was build by Garth L’esperance.
I thought for a long time about the reasons I find this bike so hot. First and foremost, the rider is 6’3” (which is 190.5 cm in a useful measurement) and the bike looks just right. Typically 650B look strange to me when the frame is meant to support a large rider, but this one looks just right. It’s also designed to fit a 2.3 inch tires and yet allow jdg, the rider, to use campagnolo cranks. It’s got disks and seems to be build for front loading which is also exactly how I like my bikes.
The full gallery is here. Something about 650B that makes them super hot.
With the registration to the first three Brevets now completed, it’s time to rejoice and get inspired.
It’s going to be legendary.
The local chapter might still have some open places so if you want to register go ahead. See you on the road.
After riding a single speed cyclocross bike as a commuter since 2012 I decided that it’s time to move on to something more appropriate for the daily travels. I have been schlepping a Chrome Citizen on my back as my primary mode of transporting things for way longer and felt that this back should be enjoying the wind more than the bag. With these two main ideas, I started sketching a requirement list for a new commuter. The list looked like this:
You would think that finding a bike that answers these specifications is easy. Sadly it’s not. I looked and looked and came up empty handed. There are loads of “almost” bikes that would match the requirements, but finding something in Europe, was even more difficult. As mom says “rich people’s problems.” Of course it’s always an option to build a customer frame, but the idea of locking a custom frame outside on the street did not appeal to me much. I wanted a frame that is replaceable should something happen without a lead time of a builder. I also wanted to sleep at night.
The solution came in the form of Van Dessel W.T.F. There were other options from the usual suspects, but I’ve been dreaming about a curved top-tube bike for a long long while and finding something that meets all the requirements as well as looking awesome was a great eureka moment. Not only did the W.T.F meet all the specifications above, it also has a distributer in Europe (well…in the U.K which is close enough). I contact Bearded Man and spoke to David who was more than happy to let me check out two frame sizes and was also quick to respond and sounded very nice.
On my previous commuter, a 61×61 steel frame, I always felt stretched. All my other bikes are much smaller with geometries that are more appropriate for someone with a back that does not like to bend too much and a long torso. So I decided to go for the 59CM model and add spacers to get more height. The frame is a perfect fit as it now configured.
The frame arrived and the search for the components started. I wanted to use my White Industries ENO crank set which meant that a I needed a solution to build a standard into BSA in a frame and PF30 bottom bracket. I could not find an eccentric bottom bracket that will also also convert PF30 to BSA. Instead I found a PF30 to BSA shell from FSA. This meant that the cranks could be used, but chain tension remains a question. In came the second White Industries component – the ENO Eccentric hub which magically appeared on one of the forums I read just as I was about to give up the search. Now only did the second wheel appear in perfect timing, it was also being sold by a person I know – the stars were aligned.
The rest of the components were easy:
And after all this bike geekery, how does she ride? She rides great. Riding Vinni (yes, we named her) is like riding a snake that’s sliding on butter on a hot pan. She is nimble even with a whole week’s shopping worth in the front. She is fun and is likely to also spend time outside of the city when summer arrive. For the first time since I started riding in Berlin, some 10 years now or so, I actually had a taxi driver pull me over and ask where I got the bike and if I can build one for him. In the eternal war between cab drivers and cyclists, i can say that Vinni may also bring peace.
Every year since 2010, Rapha, together with Strava, challenge the world of connected cyclists: ride 500km between Christmas Eve and New Year Eve. As both companies are firmly based in the Northern Hemisphere it is clear what the challenge is all about: get out and ride exactly when family obligations and bad weather are crowding your usual cycling style. I’m sure that generations of psychologists could study the effect of the challenge on the health of family life and the increase in family pressure on the non-cycling partner.
My non-cycling partner understands very well the need to first and foremost escape Christmas, get some riding and avoid bad weather in as much as possible. So when I propose to spend Christmas to New Year (and then some) in a land not far from Europe, but with general hospital weather during this time of the year, said non-cycling partner (it’s a transient state that will change come spring) approved the plan and decided to join after the Christmas hoopla is completed.
As the 24th was approaching, and final checks on the general health and readiness of my well traveled Hunter (now with overwholed fork thanks for the Rick himself) were completed, I got excited. Friends back in Europe were preparing to ride in god-awful weather (snow! rain! sub-zero temperatures!) and I was facing blue sky, 22 degrees (Celsius) and was planning on wearing a summer kit. I felt that this may be cheating, but since quiet a few folks in Australia signed up for the challenge I decided that it was somewhat acceptable – Christmas and New Year happen on the same day even when the weather is nice.
Given plans and family obligations, ironically all happening post-Christmas (well…not so ironic for a family that does not celebrate Christmas), I also decided or rather was compelled to finish the challenge in 4 days. The biggest challenge for any riding in Israel is actually the fact that the country is tiny and is entirely constructed to satisfy mountain bikers (and cars) and ignore road riders. I actually knew that before arrival and was planning on abusing some of the many off-road tracks that cross the country, but these turned into lakes of mud due to a few days of heavy rains. I attempted to ride one of these paths prior to December 24, but after 15 km that took about an hour and created a layer of mud so thick around my tires, I decided to abandon the plan and stick to the roads.
Here again Strava and the tiny road-riders community of Israel (at least from Strava it seemed that way) came to the rescue. I checked out a few routes and was shocked to discover that they all took major highways. It became clear that there are no other options. One have to ride on the side of the highway, on the shoulder if you will. The good news was that the shoulders were very wide. The bad news was that you still had to ride on the highways. I decided to throw all caution to the wind and brave it. I was also following two friends from Salzburg who were riding and documenting their much less sunny attempts to complete the challenge. Their blog was a source of inspiration and a certain glee.
Day one took me from Tel Aviv to the north Arab village of Fureidis. There, after 80 km of riding, and quiet a few bad navigation mistakes, I sat down at a local restaurant and ordered hummus, falafel, french fries and a whole jug of lemonade. The hummus was amazing as were the falafels and fries. If every ride in Germany had that for an incentive, I may even be riding more. I then continues north for another 10 km before turning around to ride along highway 2 which took me along the sea back to Tel Aviv.
Day two was Christmas day which was a good enough reason to head towards Jerusalem and do some climbing. As I was riding up the mountains that precede Jerusalem, I was thinking that climbing is a pretty silly way to collect any distance, but the scenery around me was so breathtaking that I quickly stopped this line of thinking, continued sweating and going up. I was riding in a hilly area, full of pine trees and small valleys. It seemed that every piece of land was used by farmers and the rest were low-forests with signs indicating that here and there various biblical-events took place. I got up to a park called “U.S.A. National Park” and there, with climbing reaching silliness level, I decided to turn around and head back towards the beach. This was also the only route during the 4 days adventures where I actually saw other cyclists.
Day three was split into pre-family meal and post family meal. I finally realized what it must have been like for my cycling friends who stayed home with their family trying to negotiate rides between lunch with this uncle and dinner with that Aunt. In my morning ride I circled Tel Aviv, rode by the airport and then came back into the city from the south. It was amazing to see that a loop of a few hours, practically covered the whole center of the country. After a huge meal celebrating an uncle’s 70th birthday, I took off, full of guilt at the amount of food that was consumed, towards the north east and then, strategically I might add, rode back along the sea and caught a most excellent sunset in a cloud free sea that merged seamlessly with the sky.
Day four had to be the last day. Said non-cycling partner was due to arrive the next day, and finishing the challenge in half the time was also appealing. A small problem arose though as I was told that I was due to another family celebration, in a valley to the North, at about midday. Initially, this seemed like a disaster, but then a solution arrived. I plotted a ride to the Kibutz where the celebration took place and agreed with the parental units, that the ride back will be taken in the car with the bike in the trunk. And so it was that I took off on a crisp Saturday morning (early I should say) on the last 86 km I still needed to finish the challenge. The ride took me through the city of Hadera and then shot me straight across some hills through several Arab cities (Umm Al-Fahm said the sign). At the top of that climb with the winds in my face and cars cutting me off left, right and center, I was cursing and shouting, but lets face it, I was wearing shorts and was going through a beautiful area of historical significant (it was also the way to Nazareth for example). As I dropped into the valley and took a left I realized that I am 8 km away from finishing the challenge and the valley to my right was a perfect way to end. I arrived to my cousin’s house 45 minutes before I was due, had loads of water and continued with the celebration that in my head, in addition to the multitude of birthdays, also included “you just finished the Festive 500!!!”
I did already make a deal with myself for 2015 – stay at home and ride in the cold. Bring it on!
I absolutely had to laugh out loud when I read Richard Sachs’ hysterical “Framebuilder’s Mind” post today. As someone who obsessed over bar tape wrapping, cable routing and where exactly should the “Chris King” labels be positioned on the headset, I can totally appreciate the good nature of Mr Sachs’ post. I also have two hand-made frames, both of which are amazing and I am sure that both have some imperfections that make absolutely zero effect on my ride. If the wheels turn, take it for a spin.