Didn’t I mention yesterday the splendid colors of autumn?
As the seasons change, LOOK OUT, JORTS IS COMING!
It’s the new “On your left”.
It’s shocking, isn’t it?
Oh, and could you look at this, I have a new bag!
Do you see that? After all, I didn’t need to resort to electric techno-paranoia:
The bag is “out of stock”, but when you are me nothing is out of stock:
Let’s just say I have connections in the oilcloth mafia.
You see, you have your regular mafia:
Your velvet mafia:
And your oilcloth mafia:
I probably shouldn’t say more, otherwise you might find me cut up and stuffed into a HappiSack:
[Photo: The Waxed Canvas Mafia]
If you see one bouncing on the OCA with just one foot sticking out, you’ll know it’s me inside:
As for my new bag, it might be too small to hide a body, but it’s exactly what I need: just big enough for snacks, gloves and that sort of thing:
Or maybe a book and some toys when I take the kids to the park Columbus Unspeakable day:
And yes, this book contains references on cycling:
Of course, Constable would have been fine if he was riding a Rivendell, a bike so stable that even a Scottie couldn’t knock you off:
My infatuation with this bike remains as exuberant as the foliage, and it’s at home on everything from smooth roads:
For terrain with this degree of roughness:
So, do you call this a “lead”? Or is it technically a gravel road covered in extremely large gravel?
Anyway, anything beyond that on the Roaduno and I guess you’re doing what those spoiled Gen-Z people today call “under-cycling.”
Speaking of the so-called under-bike, you may remember that I did something in Vermont opposite the Roaduno, George Plimpton’s Y-Foil, aka The Charity Ride Destroyer, aka The Pumpkin Spice Nightmare:
In the comments on yesterday’s post, which touched on the subject of yielding, there was some discussion about gravel roads and giant trucks. As a die-hard city dweller, when I find myself on a gravel road, I of course assume that it exists purely for the sake of picturesqueness, and can count on the fact that it is relatively motor vehicle-free as a bonus:
“Wow, look at all that pristine gravel!”, I said to myself. “And no one else rides on it!” » But what I quickly realized is that not all gravel roads are equal and some of them are heavily used by farmers. Additionally, one of the gravel roads I chose was exactly one of these thoroughfares:
Even though the drivers showed no outward hostility, I’m sure they were wondering, “What is this bastard doing?” Anyway, all that to say I duly stepped aside and dismounted where necessary, although in retrospect I probably should have made a video and rant about how rural roads need tracks more protected cycle paths. Regardless, I arrived at the ferry alive and intact:
And I didn’t even have to squeeze a breast!
This may or may not be a win, depending on how you look at it.