Weight Distribution Mysteries

One thing that continues to mystify me about frame design, is how different bicycles react to weight distribution. Over the years, I've really found this aspect of a bicycle's handling to be a wildcard. My Rivendell Sam Hillborne is built like a typical mid-trail touring bike, which, it is said, makes it optimal for carrying heavy loads in the rear but only moderate loads in the front. However, I prefer to ride this bike with an enormous handlebar bag, and it does very well with it. It also handles well with a saddlebag and panniers, but interestingly the handlebar bag - with the same amount of weight in it - does not appear to affect speed at all, whereas the saddlebag does a bit. If I am going on a fast ride, I remove the saddlebag but do not bother removing the handlebar bag. All of this is just fine with me, because I find it far more convenient to keep my stuff in the front for easy access. But it goes against my understanding of the way a bicycle like this is supposed to react to weight. 

Then there is the Moser racing bike, which reacts badly to any weight I put on it at either end. The front gets twitchy with even a small bag attached. And with any saddlebag larger than a tiny wedge the bike feels distinctly rear-heavy. A few times I've affixed a mid-sized saddlebag so that I could carry my camera, and it felt like trudging through mud compared to the speed this bike is normally capable of. On the other hand, a full water bottle on the downtube (the bottle weighing about the same as my camera) has no effect, and neither does my own weight gain when I stuff my jersey pockets with all the things I would have otherwise kept in a bag.

Riding bikes like this has made me understand why some cyclists chose to ride with backpacks instead of baskets or panniers - some bicycles simply do not handle well with weight on either end, but do fine when the weight is part of the rider. This is one reason the argument "If you want to lighten your bike, lose some weight" does not make sense to me. You cannot simply take the combined weight of a bicycle, its accessories and its rider, and assume the handling and speed will be the same as long as the total remains the same.

My first city bicycle - a Pashley Princess - came with a huge front basket, but it did not handle well for me when I put things in the basket. Eventually I removed it and attached a set of rear folding panniers instead. With that configuration the bike handled much better, and faster. When I carried weight in the rear, I could detect no difference in speed, even with a full load of groceries.

On the other hand, the Bella Ciao city bike I now ride - while faster than the Pashley overall - is more sensitive to weight in the back. The handling doesn't change, but I can feel a difference in speed depending on how heavy the load I am carrying is. 

With pretty much every bicycle I've ridden over an extended period of time so far, I've noticed some sort of relationship between weight distribution and handling, and it is not always a logical one - or at least not obviously so. I am sure there are lots of factors contributing to these effects, and these factors are just too nuanced to be obviously discernible. It's interesting to figure this stuff out in the process of getting to know a bike. 

Categories: bags, Bella Ciao, Moser, Pashley, Rivendell

Transitional Weather

Last week we had our first real day of spring. The sun had that special gentle quality to it and overnight an army of crocuses tore through blankets of dried leaves. All around nature seemed to be smiling. Riding my bike in a skirt, tights, long sleeve top and wool blazer, I was pretty comfortable in the 56°F temperature. And I was also amazed how many cyclists I saw out in t-shirts and shorts!

When finally it is warm and sunny after a long winter, it's tempting to dress as if it is summer. But with the transitional weather in March and April, this is also the time of the year a lot of people tend to get sick. After all, 50-60°F is not really that balmy. And even with the kinder temperatures, Spring (in New England at least) tends to be windy - and the wind hits cyclists directly in the face and chest with more force than it does pedestrians.

It took me a while to find a comfortable balance dressing for Spring's faux warmth, but after a couple of years I've more or less settled on a system. The trick for me is to keep it light, but windproof in the torso and to keep my neck covered. I find windbreakers too casual for everyday wear, and I also tend to sweat in them. But I like lightweight wool blazers and thin (unlined) trench coats. They are breathable, and the fabric is dense enough to protect from the wind without being too heavy. 

My eyes are sensitive to the sun and wind, and Spring brings a powerful mixture of both. On the bike, my sunglasses pretty much stay on most of the time and I smear moisturiser or vaseline around my eyes on windy days. 

As far as keeping my neck covered, lightweight silk scarves work well once big wool scarves get too warm and bulky. They also fold up very small if it gets too hot for them in the middle of the day. Recently a friend introduced me to the amazing world of inexpensive "cowboy" scarves. She has a collection of silk scarves in every colour and pattern imaginable, and she buys them from these online cowboy stores for like $20 each. Done! 

Dressing for work on the bike can be tricky in the springtime, and of course different strategies will work for different people. I don't like being too hot or too cold, but I also don't want to stuff my pannier with pounds of "just in case" layers when I leave the house, so I like a system without too much bulk. What's your method of dressing for transitional weather? 

Categories: Bella Ciao, clothing, urban cycling

Freeze / Thaw

This winter I get the distinct feeling that nature is playing games with me. Constantly changing rhythm, it refuses to let me get comfortable, to allow me to settle down into a season-specific "mode" of cycling. With temperatures below 20°F one day and above 45°F the next, I feel as if I am trying to dance while the DJ alternates between the oldies and thrash metal. My movements are awkward and a migraine is just around the corner.

But if that's how nature wants to play it, so be it, and there is always a silver lining to be found. For instance, my familiarity with mud has certainly grown. There are so many different kinds: liquid mud, viscous mud, mud that looks like packed dirt but behaves like quicksand, mud with a thin crust of ice over it, mud of a slushy-like frozen consistency throughout, and mud that has frozen in big solid ripples. I've been trying to ride on mud in all of these different conditions as part of a radical campaign to improve my balance, and thanks to the freeze/thaw weather I can experience a complete mud menu over the course of a single week. 

Much less endearing is the unpredictable appearance of ice patches that the changes in weather are causing. The last time I went out on my roadbike, I saw black ice on the country roads that pretty much convinced me it was trainer time despite the lack of snow. Going downhill and hitting a patch like that, I am pretty sure there is nothing I could do to prevent a fall. 

With February under way, at least the winter season is more than half over. My ideal conditions for the rest of it would be a couple of beautiful snowfalls (my birthday is later this month and I love snow on my birthday), followed by a swift and complete thaw in the first week of March. Well, I can dream. In the meantime, nature continues the freeze / thaw game and I do my best to keep up. Every winter is different, and I am glad to have a record of this one as I do of the previous two. 

Categories: Bella Ciao, winter cycling

The Virtues of Versatility

For a couple of months now I've been riding only one bicycle for transportation instead of switching between several, and I've got to say that I like it. Not only that, but I am realising that strictly speaking, the others I own are not really necessary, as this one is sufficiently versatile to do everything I need. I've never felt this way toward another transport bicycle before, which is why I've always had multiples: at the very least one IGH bike for local errands and winter cycling, and a lighter, derailleur-geared bike for long distance trips with hills. But now that division of labor is no longer neeeded.

The bicycle I am riding is a modified Bella Ciao Donna that I finally have all to myself again after it served as a guinea pig for a project I was working on. It is not perfect at everything. My other transport bike is a vintage Gazelle and it's a cushier, more luxurious ride with greater carrying capacity. I also have a Royal H mixte that is faster, lighter weight, easier uphill, and equipped with better lighting. But the Gazelle cannot be ridden long distances efficiently. And the mixte cannot be ridden in the winter, plus the frame can be a pain to mount and dismount in some outfits. Neither of the two would work as an "only bike." But the Bella Ciao can handle long distances, does a decent job of tackling hills, is suitable for winter, and accommodates any outfit. The 3-speed drivetrain keeps things simple. The powdercoat and chaincase keep it maintenance-free. The handling has a distinctly vintage feel that is not for everyone, but works well for me. Sure I've wished for more cush over potholes, more cargo capacity and more gears while riding this bike. But I can count on one hand the number of times that has happened over the past two months.

Versatility is not an exciting characteristic, because it implies compromise. "Jack of all trades, master of none" sort of thing. But I guess for transportation cycling I am finding that the jack of all trades is winning me over - at least for the time being. More than anything, I think the trick is finding that sweet spot of a bike - what one person considers versatile may not be sufficiently versatile for another. But if you do find one that does it for you, it can be such a relief! Getting around on the same bike regardless of destination has simplified my life considerably, giving me a new appreciation for versatility. 

Categories: Bella Ciao, transportation options

Too Local? Not to Worry!

Today I made the decision to do something new and exciting: to rent an art studio close to home. My current studio situation is kind of disjointed. I have a small painting studio in our apartment, and the Co-Habitant and I share a photography studio outside of Boston. Neither has been working out very well. I have a difficult time painting at home, often feeling stir-crazy and unable to focus. And the photo studio, while a great space in theory, takes so long to get to that we do not go there as much as we envisioned. Some restructuring is in order if we want to be more productive.

When I began to look for studio space, I was hoping for a moderate bicycle commute. A manageable distance would be key to maintaining a daily practice - especially in the winter when it gets unpleasant to cycle in the snow in traffic. Good studio spaces are pretty scarce around these parts, but I didn't want to settle for something so far away that I'd end up never going there. I looked around and didn't find much. Then suddenly a great space turned up a 10 minute ride from my house. That's almost too local!

But while the studio is close by, it is in a neighbourhood I do not normally venture to - separated from my neighbourhood by a great big hill. In fact, the entire trip is basically the hill: Both going there and coming back, the first portion of the ride I spent climbing and panting, taking care not to weave in front of moving cars. The second portion I spent descending - careful not to go too fast, as cars appeared out of nowhere. Oh boy. This is what awaits me every day, twice or more a day, in high traffic and on an upright city bike! Laden with a heavy pannier, my 3-speed climbed faithfully, maintaining a consistent line of travel. I did it, but I didn't like it. Hopefully I will get really strong in a couple of months without breaking my knees first. Of course I could also just walk; it's close enough... but what would be the fun in that?

Categories: art, Bella Ciao, transportation options

Dusk in the Afternoon

Cycling home the other day, I caught a glimpse of a clock in a storefront window. At 4 pm it had already grown dark. Like other signs of winter's approach, this gave me a pang of anxiety. The early onset of darkness restricts my mobility, and after two winters as a cyclist I still have not found a good solution. 

The main issue for me, is that the two major "commuter trails" we have in the Boston area - the Charles River Trail and the Minuteman Trail - are completely unlit. When it gets dark they turn pitch black. This directly affects my long-distance bike travel, because I regularly use these trails as "highways" to get to suburban destinations 8-12 miles away, both for transportation and for roadcycling. At one point I was determined to conquer the darkness with super bright lights. I was pleased to find that it was indeed possible to cycle on the trails after dark with a strong enough headlight. I would go slower than usual, but it was good enough. However, the one issue I had not considered seriously enough was safety. On the Charles River Trail, I've now been startled several times by intoxicated men in my path. And on the Minuteman Trail last week a group of highschool boys stuck branches in my spokes as I cycled past them. There were maybe six of them, and they'd been sitting on the edges of the narrow path, smoking and waiting for a cyclist to ride by so that they could do this. Under the cover of darkness people who are capable of violence tend to lose their inhibitions, which makes unlit trails problematic. But the alternative routes to the destinations to which the trails take me are along busy roads, and I do not find them viable to use on a regular basis.

So what am I planning to do about this?.. Probably nothing, other than making sure to make it home before dark if I am using the trails, which basically means restricting my mobility again for the duration of winter. Oh I know, I know. I could "be braver" and do those long trips on busy roads. Or I could become a "bring lights to the trails" activist and dedicate my life to getting petitions signed and funding allocated. But the reality is that most cyclists who find themselves in this position simply give up. We should not be faced with those choices just because we want to continue cycling safely and conveniently as the days grow shorter. 

Categories: Bella Ciao, Boston, night time cycling, safety, trails

The 45 Minute Mystery

The furthest I typically travel for transportation is about 10 miles from home, and over time I've noticed something kind of funny: It takes me around 45 minutes to get there pretty much every time, no matter what bike I am riding. I have done the ride on several upright bikes, road and touring bikes, mixtes, single speeds - and it's always the same. If I happen to be a little slower or faster on any given day, it seems to depend more on traffic patterns than on the bike I am riding.  

This is not to say that some bikes are not faster than others; clearly there are enormous differences. But when riding for transportation through densely populated areas, I find that more often than not these differences simply do not matter. Because I follow traffic laws and stop for red lights and stop signs, being on a fast bike just means that I am riding faster between those enforced stops. Maybe once in a while I'll make a green light that a slower cyclist would not, but somehow it averages out and in the end I don't really "win" any time. 

Of course there are other benefits to being on a faster bike. Hills are easier. Accelerating is easier when going around obstacles or starting from a stop. All things considered, I prefer to commute on a bike that is fast - as long as it's also upright, comfortable, and fully equipped for transportation. But the faster bike does not deliver me to my destination any sooner; the 45 minute rule always applies. 

Categories: Bella Ciao, Boston, transportation options

Thinking It Through: Why Unique Bikes Should Come with Accessories

I've been riding the Paper Bicycle for just over a week, and in some ways my experience with it reminds me of when I first got the Bella Ciao last year.  My initial reaction was that of ecstasy over the ride quality. Not that the two bikes feel the same - far from it. But each rides great in its own distinct way, and works better for me than most other city bicycles I've tried thus far. 

When I am this happy with how a bicycle rides, of course my first thought is "Oh my God, this thing is amazing, I want to ride it all the time!" And therein lies the problem... because I can't. Like the Bella Ciao of yesteryear, the Paper Bicycle did not come with lights or a rack. Okay, so I can begrudgingly clip on battery lights when it gets dark. But the problem of how to carry my things on the bike is more serious. I am just not willing to ride around with a backpack for weeks for the sake of my blog's test ride reports, after investing in racks and panniers on my own bikes specifically to avoid that. 

Whereas for a "normal" bike I could simply buy a rack, that is not an option when a bicycle is so unusual as to make standard racks functionally or aesthetically unworkable. There is only one rack on the market with which the Paper Bicycle is compatible (the Burley rack, with the use of an adaptor). But even that option is a bad idea in my view, because it kills the unique look of the bike. Similarly, the Bella Ciao was, in theory, compatible with the Pletscher rack, but using it undermined both the elegant form of the frame and the pains the manufacturer had taken to make the bicycle as light as possible. For the Bella Ciao, the only solution I ultimately found was to have a custom rack made. I think the same must be done for the Paper Bicycle in order to make it appealing as not just a design concept, but a complete package. I know that the manufacturer is working on a rack design, and I am really hoping they make it sufficiently "paperbikey," integrated with the rest of the bicycle in the same elegant manner as the chaincase. 

It's only natural that the more enjoyable a bicycle is to ride, the more crucial these details become. The customer's joy after experiencing a fantastic test ride can quickly turn to disappointment upon learning that the bicycle cannot be made practical for commuting without destroying its looks. Similarly, as a reviewer I cannot properly evaluate a transport bike if I am ultimately unable to use it for everyday transportation as I would my own bikes. I strongly believe that this is something manufacturers need to consider and address when they create a unique product.  

Categories: Bella Ciao, bicycle industry, bike shopping, Paper Bicycle

The 'Slideways' Dismount

In the past I've been asked to demonstrate my quirky bicycle dismount, so here it is! Over the course of riding step-through city bikes, I've gravitated toward the sideways dismount: swinging my right leg over the frame while the bike is still in motion and then jumping off the saddle to the left as I come to a stop. It's really more like a "slideways" dismount, because what I am doing is leaning the bike and sort of dumping myself off the saddle. I've tried to recreate it here in slow motion while testing my camera's remote control feature (the remote is in my hand - can you tell?).

I know others who dismount their bicycles in this manner, and, like me, they find it completely natural and intuitive. But I've also been criticised for this move. A couple of people have told me that doing this to the bike repeatedly might distort the frame. Others have expressed concern that one of these times I am bound to get "tangled in the bike" while swinging my leg over. The latter does not really worry me; my body seems to have an inherent awareness of where the top tube is in relation to my foot. The frame distortion idea is intriguing, but seems far fetched: Can the sideways jump really exert sufficient force to twist these tank-like frames? 

I never set off to adopt this style of dismount; it just sort of happened. As I kept raising the saddles on my city bikes higher and higher, eventually I could no longer reach the ground without leaning the bike to the side. The "slideways" move was the natural outgrowth of that: Somehow I find jumping off in this manner easier and more natural than the typical method of standing up on the pedals and then stepping down. At this point I've been doing it this way for over two years, and it would be a difficult habit to break!

Categories: Bella Ciao, loop frame, technique

Bicycles and Curb Appeal

One aspect of a bicycle that usually gets omitted from reviews, but I feel is nonetheless important, is "curb appeal" - how noticeable or attractive it is to passers-by (who are not usually bicycle aficionados) at first glance. I've had bicycles in my possession that, while considered excellent and gorgeous by those who know about bikes, are virtually invisible to "normal" people. And then there are bicycles that barely allow me to make it down the street without strangers asking about them. 

While it may seem like a superficial thing to care about, the "curb appeal" factor can be important from several perspectives. From the manufacturer's and retailer's point of view, bicycles that are appealing even to those who are not into bikes have the potential to draw in new customers - who may then grow to become serious cycling enthusiasts as a result of the initial lure. From the customer's point a view, a bicycle that is admired by others in their community can enhance their feelings of satisfaction with the purchase and can even result in their riding more often. Even from the point of view of cycling activists, bicycles that are attractive enough to draw in non-cyclists are good news for the obvious reason that they will get more people cycling, or at least thinking about cycling. 

On the other hand, some may specifically not want a bicycle with the so-called "curb appeal." Getting constantly approached and asked about one's bike by strangers is a negative thing for those who don't like to attract attention. There may also be a heightened concern of theft to worry about.

Either way, I feel that the extent to which a bicycle is appealing to and noticed by the general public is meaningful and worth mentioning when discussing bicycle design. Have you noticed the "curb appeal" of your bicycle? 

Categories: Bella Ciao, Boston, social commentary

Aftermarket Dynamo Lights: a Clean Look

When setting up dynamo lighting on a bicycle with no provisions for it (i.e. no internal routing or special braze-ons), there is always the question of how to route the wiring so that it looks "clean." After all, no one likes to see black wires coiled around a frame's fork and tubes. When setting up the lights on my Rivendell some time ago, the Co-Habitant and I developed a nice method that is practically invisible, and I've been meaning to share it. So when we recently did the same to my Bella Ciao, I made sure to document it.

This method assumes that your bicycle is equipped with fenders, and that you are installing both a headlight and tail light. I will also assume that you already know how to connect the lights themselves; this is not meant to be an electrical tutorial.

The key to our method is using as little wiring as necessary - running it in a straight line parallel to existing stays and tubes, as opposed to coiling it, and securing it with colour-matched zipties. It's a simple idea, but colour-matched zipties really do blend in with the bicycle when all is said and done. You may be surprised to learn that they are available in all sorts of colours - from bright rainbow hues, to neutrals such as clear, white, cream, taupe and gray. We use small gray zipties to route the wire from the tail light along the non-drivetrain side fender chainstay. 

In natural light, the result looks like this.

We then proceed along the non-drivetrain side chainstay, using a larger colour-matched ziptie. This frame is a sort of pale military green, and this beige ziptie blends in nicely.

Continuing the same underneath the bottom bracket.

In natural light, the wiring really does "disappear" when routed in this manner, staying close to the chainstay.

If your frame already has shifter cable braze-ons on the downtube as this one does, then you can simply attach the wiring to the shifter cable itself (small black zipties this time). Otherwise, use two large colour-matched zipties for the dwntube, like we did here. 

For the headlight, you will need to leave enough wire so that your ability to turn the handlebars is not constricted. We prefer to achieve this by creating a coil here. To do this, simply wrap the wire tightly around a pen or a stick.

And voila, there is your coil. Notice the additional ziptie along the shifter cable, just to keep everything neatly in place.

Finally, use the same colour-matched zipties along the fork as you did along the chainstays, routing the wire to the hub as tautly as possible.

Even frames with internal routing often lack provisions for the fork, and here I find it especially important to find zipties in a colour that blends in with the paint - otherwise it can look as if the fork is cut into pieces, its elegant curvature disturbed. I am using my camera flash to show the process, but in daylight this really looks quite unobtrusive.

In natural light up close.

And from further away.

Having used this method on three bicycles now, I am pleased with it and don't particularly covet frames with provisions for internal routing. Nothing has ever come loose, and visually I am pretty happy with it. You are welcome to use our method, or to share your own.

Categories: Bella Ciao, DIY, lights

100 Miles on the Danube

After more than two years of meaning to but never quite working up to it, I have finally completed my first "century" - a 100 mile ride. It didn't exactly happen as I had envisioned it, but it happened nonetheless. And it was certainly memorable.

The bike you see here is what I rode: It is a Bella Ciao Neorealista with a 7-speed hub, front and rear caliper brakes, Brooks B17S saddle, 700Cx35mm Delta Cruiser tires, Berthoud fenders and MKS touring pedals - lent to me by Citybiker in Vienna (thank you!). I decided to try the ride on this bicycle, because it seemed the safest bet of the available options - the others being borrowing a cool roadbike from Wolfgang, or riding Jacqueline. With the roadbike, it generally takes me a while to "dial in" the positioning, and I had no time to experiment. With Jacqueline, I was worried that she might be too heavy and too old for such a long ride. So I took advantage of being able to borrow the Bella Ciao, which seemed to be somewhere in between as far as positioning and also had the benefit of modern components. I felt that I knew what to expect with this bike, since I have a similar one at home and have ridden mine for 30 mile stretches at a time. We lowered the Neorealista handlebars for a more aggressive posture, but otherwise nothing was altered. I was not sure that I'd actually be able to do the ride, but the plan was to go as far as I felt comfortable.

I had brought my Zimbale saddlebag from home and attached it to the bike before I set off. I have no pictures of myself during the course of this ride, but I was wearing pretty much this: wool tights, wool dress, 3/4 length wool overcoat, legwarmers, ankle boots with 2" heels, a hat, and (not pictured) gloves and a scarf. From the forecast I knew that the weather would be cold, mostly in the low 40s. In the event that I got too warm, I planned to take off my coat and attach it to the saddlebag with a bungee cord. In the event it got even colder, I packed an extra sweater. I also packed a pair of padded wool cycling shorts, in case my butt started to hurt on the way back. Aside from that, I packed battery-operated lights, a bottle of apple juice mixed with mineral water and salt, my camera, phone, bank card, cash, notebook, pen, and a packet of Ibuprofen. I did not bother taking a map - since I would simply be following the Danube cycle path.

Before I go on, I must warn you that my photographic documentation of this ride is disappointing. I passed some gorgeous spots, but it wasn't practical to stop and take pictures if I hoped to maintain momentum. So all my photos were taken during food-break stops, which did not necessarily coincide with the scenic moments. I am also disappointed that I do not have a single photo of myself during this trip, as a memento - but I was too cold to mess with the self-timer, and my camera is difficult for strangers to operate.

My trip did not begin according to plan. I had wanted to set off at 7:00 in the morning, but got delayed and was not able to leave until 10:00. With such a late start, I considered postponing to a different day - but my schedule was already full, so this was my only chance to do the ride. I went, making sure the batteries in my lights were fresh. The Danube Canal path is right around the corner from my flat, and within a minute of leaving the house I was on it. I sped through the urban part of the path, and within 15 minutes I reached the junction where the Danube Canal meets the Danube River proper.

I rode without stopping past all of my favourite spots in the countryside along the river and did not take a break until I approached the outskirts of Tulln - a town about 25 miles from the center of Vienna. Things were going well so far: It was cold, but sunny. I was only very slightly tired and nothing hurt or felt uncomfortable on the bike. It was around 12:00 noon, which meant I'd been cycling at 12.5mph on average for two hours straight. So far, so good. I stopped at a cafe with outdoor seating, and had a huge bowl of soup while looking at ships making their way along the river. The sunshine made everything look gorgeous. 

My plan was to continue on the Danube cycling path until I reached the town of Krems - a beautiful place in the Wachau valley. At this stage I was exactly half way. Unfortunately, this was the last time I would see nice weather during my ride.

Almost as soon as I got going again, the sunlight faded and the temperature fell. The change was sudden: One minute, everything was bathed in a golden light, and the next the landscape was grim. I was finding it difficult to warm up, even though the mostly flat route meant that I was vigorously pedaling the entire time (no hills means not only no climbing, but also no coasting!) I kept hoping the sunshine would return, but it only got more overcast as I continued cycling. 

And then, things got worse: A milky fog descended over the valley. In the middle of the day! Just after Tulln, the Danube path veers away from the river for a few miles, cutting through woods and farmland. The landscape now looked washed out and dingy. Visually I did not mind it, and even found the idea of cycling all alone through fog and desolate fields romantic. But it was difficult to keep warm. The freezing fog was penetrating all my wool layers and getting into my very bones - a deep chill. And then the wind picked up. I pedaled harder and kept my head down.

By 1pm, it became clear that the weather was not likely to improve. It was time for a change of plans: Krems was too good to see for the first time in such bleak light. Instead, I decided to go as far as Traismauer (a town 10 miles closer), and make up the missing miles by getting off the Danube path and doing a longer loop through some of the villages set back from the river. In doing so, I was also hoping to find a cafe that sold hot drinks, as all the ones along this portion of the Danube cycling path were closed for the season. 

As far as navigation went, it was not difficult to make my way through the villages. There were signs everywhere announcing what the next village was and which direction to Traismauer. But it was extremely depressing. In good weather, I think the villages would have looked cute. But under overcast skies and enveloped in fog they looked abandoned and sinister. There were very few people out doing any kind of farm work and the few places of businesses that existed were all closed - even though it was a weekday.

I passed though the centers of five or six villages before I finally found one with a functional cafe - which was on the side of a sort of country highway leading to Traismauer. After I drank 3 cups of tea and rested a bit, I spoke to the waitress and learned that this was in fact the only road leading to Traismauer. Hitherto I had been cycling along small village streets, but this was a big road with an 80km/h speed limit. I decided to go ahead and brave it.

My companions during this stretch of the trip were mainly trucks and tractors. The trucks went very fast. The tractors went very slowly. The odd sportscar would occasionally zoom past as well. We all got along and I never felt endangered. My stamina, on the other hand, seemed to be nearly depleted and I had barely even cycled 60 miles. Please do not underestimate what I wrote earlier about a flat landscape meaning that you don't have the opportunity to coast. Pedaling the entire time, I was starting to feel like a mechanical doll.  Traismauer was further away that I'd realised, and it felt as if I were cycling on the edge on that highway forever.

But finally, I was unmistakably there: This town was surrounded by a medieval wall and I cycled right through the gate. 

At one time there must also have been a moat. Now it was reduced to a sort of stream along the back part of the wall, with a modern bridge going across. 

Under normal circumstances, I might have been excited by Traismauer. But now I just felt depleted. The cold weather, the fog, the lack of sunshine, the non-stop pedaling with the wind in my face - it had all beaten me down. 

I circled around the town, then followed the signs to the train station. I am not proud of it, but yes - at this point I decided to cut my trip short and take the train back. It was already 3 pm and the most direct route home was over 40 miles. I didn't think I could handle it. At the station I learned that the next train to Vienna was not until 8:20pm, which was a long time to wait around. I decided to get something to eat while thinking about what to do next.

Turned out that I wasn't so much tired as just very hungry. Once I inhaled whatever it was that I bought at the food stand, my attitude suddenly improved and by 4pm I was ready to get back on the bike.

My plan now was to cycle the 15 miles back to Tulln - on the Danube cycling path and not through the villages this time - and see how I'd feel once I got there. The trains in Tulln ran more regularly, so if I was tired or did not want to continue in the dark, I would then take the train the rest of the way back. 

Energised by the nutritional infusion, I pedaled enthusiastically for the next hour. Just as the light was fading, the sun started to come out and the fog dissipated - but it was late and I really wasn't able to stop and capture the beautiful scenery. There is a stretch at some point where the cycling path interrupts entirely, and cyclists must transition to the road for 2-3 miles. The route is signposted, but these signs are very small and have no provisions for being seen in the dark. The scenario I wanted to avoid, was cycling through this stretch once it had already gotten dark. 

But of course, that is exactly what happened. I raced against the sunset, but despite my best efforts ended up cycling on the road with car traffic in rural darkness - squinting to find the signs instructing where to turn in order to get back onto the cycling path. It was just past 6pm now and there were lots of cars on the road - going quite fast, which was scary. I was starting to despair, when I noticed what was obviously another bicycle tail light in front of me. It was an elderly man, cycling with a sack of turnips strapped to his rear rack. I called out to him, asking if this was the right way to the cycle path. He replied that it was, and gestured for me to follow him. We "pacelined" for the next mile or so and then I followed him through an opening in the fields and we were on the Danube path. He then waved and turned around, and I realised that he'd gone out of his way only to show me how to get back on the path. I yelled "Danke vielmals!!" and waved wildly. This was my only interaction with another cyclist during the course of this ride.

Once in Tulln, I kept on going. It was already pitch black and my legs already felt as if someone else was controlling them, so it seemed I could just keep going this way. The last 20 miles of the trip felt like a trance. My headlight beam, the shadows of tree branches, the sounds of howling coming from the woods and the occasional lights of ships along the Danube felt like a dream. My wheels turned and turned and my feet pedaled and pedaled in as high as gear as I could manage. It wasn't a bad feeling, like an out of body experience. But I remember thinking "Hmm, I probably won't be able to walk tomorrow."

By the time my shaking hand retrieved the house key from my coat, it was almost exactly 8pm: 10 hours after I left. I had spent a total of an hour and a half taking breaks, which means that my average speed was 11.75 mph. I think that's not too bad for being on an upright bike and riding dressed as I was. I assumed that I would collapse upon coming home, but then a friend rang up and invited me for a drink. I went, and ended up staying out until midnight. The next morning I woke up at 8am and, to my astonishment, felt fine. I cycled around the city for transportation all day just as I normally do. There was hardly any evidence that I had ridden 100 miles the day before. My right shoulder was sore, and my sit bones were just a tad sensitive. However, there was no pain in my legs or knees, and I had plenty of energy. I expected to be wrecked, and this was almost anticlimactic. 

This trip was not how I'd imagined completing my first "century." I was riding a city bike bundled up in an overcoat, the weather was horrible, and the countryside was at its bleakest. But I found the experience fulfilling, beyond just checking off a box. I relished the feel of being self-sufficient - not in the safety net of a group ride or a companion's presence, but alone in the middle of nowhere, amidst a stark landscape in a foreign country, and feeling as if I did not need to worry, because I was on a bike and could therefore do anything. It's what cycling is about for me. And I think I'm ready for a longer ride. 

Categories: bags, Bella Ciao, food, trails, travel, Vienna