Don't talk to cops. Don't look at cops. Don't acknowledge that cops even exist. We were told tales of the corruption rampant amongst the city police, supposedly less so with the national guard, but also might be unmarked white trucks that could just roll up on us??? Unfortunately (obviously) I wasn't able to get snaps of the many encounters we had with various forms of armed individuals in Mexico but thankfully none of them went bad. Two gringos with the added confusion of very large loaded up bicycles granted us a considerable privilege as we moved through the country.
Mexico Part 3: Roads
Alright real talk...I've never felt safer riding a bike than I did while riding a bike in Mexico. Even in the cities PACKED with traffic everyone driving past us would pop on their hazard lights, slow wayyy down, and usually be waving with delight at the two gringos on bicis.
On the quieter roads, deep in the mountains or along the desert coast, drivers would just chillll behind us until it was clearly safe to pass (also waving and politely honking as they did so).
This impeccable behavior combined with the most gorgeous roads I've ever been on (Grand Canyon in Arizona doesn't have shit on MEX16 through the sierras), made for the best bicycle times I've had in the last 500 days.
Mexico Part 2: Food
I'm not sure how to communicate my feelings about eating in this country. As a mediocre (read: functional but not creative) chef in the before times I suppose I've always enjoyed eating out at new places if someone else is taking the wheel. However, becoming the cargo bike dumpster daddy has settled the bad parts of my brain knowing that zero grams of plastic waste have been brought into the world through the food I've eaten in the last year anda bit.
While it's a very good thing that a country like Mexico doesn't overproduce to the extent that America does it suuuucks not being able to dumpster dive down here. EVERYTHING (even the plates) is wrapped in plastic, sometimes twice just to keep the sauce from leaking out.
During the 1119 miles of riding through Mexico I have brought into the world 23 plastic bags, 8 styrofoam cups, 4 plastic forks, 9 plastic spoons, and 34 wrappers of various chips / candy / cookies / etc. No amount of new flavors expanding my pallet will make me feel good about that.
Mexico Part 1: Texture
The most memorable part about Mexico so far is the texture. Everything either has a sort of incomparable weathered age or a trying-too-hard perfect smoothness. There doesn’t seem to be any middle ground like it feels all of America (east coast skate spots being the only exception) is coated with. I don’t know if it’s the history of all the small towns we’ve ridden, lack of resources and give-a-shit-ness to prioritize upkeep, or simply that if it works it works and who cares what it looks like.
Flat times at Ridgemont High
“Speaks for itself” is an entertaining idiom to use for inanimate objects as they obviously cannot communicate verbally, yet can often provide a lectures worth of information from appearance alone. Beausage being my favorite word for this and one commonly used for bikes and related equipment. It’s what I’m reminded of anytime I’m unlucky enough to require the use of my Silca frame pump.
Getting a flat tire is never fun but I swear there’s something about just holding this damn thing that is satisfying. Impeccably well machined, works wayyy faster than you’d expect, and can be disassembled and serviced with a multi tool in less than a minute. This one has been on many of my bikes since May 2015 and has an absolutely gorgeous black-to-purple fade that I adore.
When heading out on the cargo bike tour I decided that every flat that this pump fixed would earn it a little notch. Each one a reminder of how hard it’s been working and all its successful conquests. Am currently at 21 (eight of which were across three days just outside of Tallahassee before I knew marathons didn’t like hookless rims 😬) and as much as I’m dreading it...I’m sure it’ll earn many more.
Trust
I’ve learned that bicycle touring relies a lot on trust. Trusting yourself when deciding to head out on the road. Trusting past travelers on their route suggestions. Trust in others to let you sleep soundly behind a church or VFD. But most of all it’s trusting your gear to not let you down, whether in the middle of the desert or somewhere in the Appalachians in early November. Related: here’s a chilly photo of the best damn levers for bicycle touring. I’m nearly at 30,000 miles on these Gevenalle shifters and I trust em’ as much as day 1.
LBS
One of the more significant perspective changing occurrences from this year on the road has been the hospitality that has been thrown my way by all manner of people. Sometimes it's randos on the side of the road giving me food or tips on a safe place to sleep, but more often it's the national treasure that is the LBS. Countless times I've rolled this big dumb rig through the front door of a classic grassroots co-op or a balleur #nothingbutcarbon studio and everything in between.
The magic of bike touring (and touring on a cargo bike, even more so) somehow makes every bike person lean into helping out, take a break from patching tubes or lacing wheels, to be a part of my journey even if just for an afternoon. Their good will pushes me forward. Metaphorically and actually forward no matter if it's me just borrowing some tools or them tearing apart my entire drivetrain to find a new creak that showed up a few days ago.
It's likely that none of y’all would be where you are without a LBS and it's a goddamn fact that I certainly wouldn't have even started this trip without the ones that let me loiter and learn after hours. Here's some photos of my favs from the trip.
"art"
“The people who run our cities don't understand graffiti because they think nothing has the right to exist unless it makes a profit, which makes their opinion worthless.
They say graffiti frightens people and is symbolic of the decline in society, but graffiti is only dangerous in the mind of three types of people; politicians, advertising executives, and graffiti writers.
The people who truly deface our neighbourhoods are the companies that scrawl giant slogans across buildings and buses trying to make us feel inadequate unless we buy their stuff. They expect to be able to shout their message in your face from every available surface but you're never allowed to answer back. Well, they started the fight and the wall is the weapon of choice to hit them back.” - Banksy
DFL not DNF
The Moran 333 gravel (sand, it’s a lot of sand) race was a significant learning experience. Taught me that I vastly prefer touring on my Omnium Cargo where I can bring aaanything I want vs being to just 30L or so of storage on my Crust Scapegoat (which still fuuuckin ruled for this route hot damn am glad I had 2.8” to work with).
Also learned that it’s good to prepare for rain even when there’s not a single speck of green on the radar because when a storm wakes ya up at 2am ya gonna have a baaad time for the next 20 hours or so.
Turns out eating an entire pizza while watching every Toy Story movie on motel tv can be exactly what my body and brain need. Rolling across the finish line to zero celebration or fanfare, welcomed by a couple grandpas just hangin out at the fairgrounds, was honestly the best ending to this little adventure within my great adventure.
Normal people will go car camping for a weekend to take a break from their 8-6 comfy corporate career lives. Maybe I can approach ultra races in a similar way; strip down the luxuries I usually ride with and see how much more rough I can handle. Next time I’ll be a bit smarter, a bit more prepared, and a bit more successful at taking on such an endevour. I may never end up winning a race but hopefully I’ll always finish them.
Ottawa
Words and photos by my good friend Michael Norton @biglegstinyarms
This is Erik, aka @truemarmalade
Erik and I have been following eachother on social media, before Instagram existed. So I was stoked when he offered to visit Ottawa.
I think if you were to describe him as a cycling nomad, you wouldn’t be wrong, but I think there’s more to it him that. I have also described him as “this guy I follow who rides all around North America living off his titanium cargo bike and dumpster dives for almost all his food.”
He also puts me to shame as a cycling photographer.
I think you can draw more than one comparison between Erik and his Omnium cargo bike, durable? unconventional? Even though his lifestyle might be on the extreme end, I think there’s lessons for all of us:
You don’t need to drive everywhere.
Be less wasteful, and more resourceful.
Be more creative.
You can do more than you think.
Go look in some dumpsters for some food!
