I have been a cyclist for some 40 years as an adult. I have never been without a bike or two in my shed, somewhere. That's because I fell in love-literally in love- with cycling. I was living in a one bed flat in St Annes on Sea in Lancashire, having just moved up from Cambridge and obtained a job as a forklift driver in a light engineering factory. This involved a six mile commute each way and I had no car or horse. A bike was the only answer and so I obtained a shiny new Raleigh racing bike from a catalogue and was set to go. The first few weeks were a nightmare as my body was shocked into fitness with muscle groups stretching and strengthening and the heart and lungs enlarging exponentially and then it came: That magical moment when the body and the bike merge into one symbiotic unit that can just keep going over endless miles, accelerate, climb, swerve as necessary and with serotonin flowing through the brain forcing you to just burst into song in order to release the joy. That's how I fell in love with cycling. Through a ten mile daily commute along busy A roads with a brief cycle lane available for a small portion of the distance. And the bike became my single vehicle-if I was invited to friends in Manchester sixty miles away, I cycled. If I wanted a camping weekend in the Lakes I strapped and tied some old tent (Vango Force 10 !!!) and sleeping bag to the bike and cycled. If I had to go over a hundred and fifty miles I'd sleep in some bus shelter to avoid a rainstorm as it never occurred to me, at that point, to wild camp in the woods. Cycling became my single choice of movement. I exchanged my now knackered silver Raleigh (Uther) in 1986 for a shit brown Orbit Horizon tourer (Chokka) which I rode thousands of miles before attaining the glory of a silver grey Dawes Super Galaxy (Miles Eater) in 1992 which, though riding many thousands of miles, I never really warmed to, emotionally. The Dawes was nicked, only fairly recently (curses upon you thief!)
It was then that I moved to my current mount, technologically at the current apex of bike development- a Scott E-genius Electric Mountain Bike (The Beast) circa 2017.
I should add that I bought one of the first Mountain bikes to be seen in the UK- a Saracen, painted lime green with thick steel tubes and knobbly tires round 1989 to explore the local moors around Ramsbottom and it became a great mount for my children to ride on as tots on the bike seat.
No suspension of course but great fun as I recall until it got nicked in December 1995 along with my son's brand new bike which was his Christmas present.
I should also add that I bought my first Brompton in 1992 from Bicycle Doctor in Manchester, where I also bought my Galaxy. It was a great little tool for short commuting and I even used it briefly in central France for a spot of touring and loved it a lot until it was nicked in 2012 locked up at Preston Park Station in Brighton. My new Brompton is laquer styled frame, six geared (reduced) with a Son hub dynamo, Brooks saddle and snazzy leather Brooks grips. She's a real beauty. Twitchy ride but good for ten-20 miles and with the addition of a waterproof big front bag made by Ortlieb in shocking orange.
I have always lusted after the mythical Rohloff gearing system, fully enclosed in an oil bath and practically maintenance-free. Up in Glasgow Kinetic Cycles do a Brompton Rohloff conversion, yeah a Rohloff conversion turning the wee toadie into a full blown beast of a touring machine. Throw me in a Gates Carbon drive too could you? Oh and a Son dynamo lighting system!
Here with credit to the editor of the splendid journal from Bikepacking.com are his excellent thoughts:
1. CHANGE (THE RHETORIC)
As the editor at BIKEPACKING.com, I see a lot of bike related content. After a while, it’s easy to gloss over the prevailing tone of mainstream mountain biking media, social streams and culture. You know, the one where trails aren’t just ridden. They’re ripped, crushed, owned, and shredded. Scenery is supplanted by skids, tail whips and big air. All too often, the image of mountain biking is portrayed as destroying land, not savoring it. This overtly aggressive lexicon has also slipped into the words, visual language, culture, clothing, and graphics that define it.THIS OVERTLY AGGRESSIVE LEXICON HAS ALSO SLIPPED INTO THE WORDS, VISUAL LANGUAGE, CULTURE, CLOTHING, AND GRAPHICS THAT DEFINE IT. It’s no wonder other land user groups fear us. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate carving fast singletrack just as much as anyone. Mountain bikes are incredible machines and the skillsets that individuals have developed to push them to their limits is amazing. But I also think there is a softer, alternative voice that needs to be heard, nurtured, and grown.
Fortunately, the rise of bikepacking presents the opportunity to seize a new vernacular. One that offsets aggressive imagery with that focused on stewardship and appreciation. One that places landscapes, cultures, exploration, and solace over hits and berms. The language of bikepacking, both literal and visual, hinges on words like ‘remote’, ‘access’, ‘wander’, and ‘backcountry’. Visuals that tell a story that goes beyond outright speed and technical mastery. We see this as an extremely positive message, especially in the face of worldwide land access issues. With the right educational information around ethics and advocacy, we believe in the value of encouraging the growth of this alternative perception of mountain biking.
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