It’s funny, you know. I’ve thought on numerous occasions over the past month about how incredible it was that something as simple as two steel triangles and two wheels could carry me almost all the way around an entire country with such ease. Then my rear wheel exploded, and with it the illusion of “ease”. But still. Bikes are incredible machines.

Since moving to Europe, I’ve come to equate bikes with freedom. I don’t have a car, so if I want to have freedom of movement, I need a bike. Granted, public transit functions incredibly well here, but there are a hundred reasons bikes are better, which for your sake, dear reader, I will not go into. Bikes = freedom, period.

This trip, though, has taken my already borderline inappropriate appreciation for bikes to another level. I love my bike. I named my bike. Not particularly creatively, I admit, but hey. I apologized to her when the roads got rough. I marveled at what a team we were. Together, we could go anywhere. Almost. Can’t cross oceans, but that’s about it. No need for gas stations or charging points. No need for hotels (though god damn it’s so much more comfortable to stay in a hotel than to sleep on a shitty air mattress in a bivy sack). It’s really quite crazy. I rode the equivalent straight-line distance from Berlin to Athens, or the entire west coast of America. And I could have kept going. Princess Vi was game, it would simply be up to my legs to determine how far we’d get.

Okay okay, went a little astray there, the love letter to bikes is now over. Now to the bike itself, because I don’t think I’ve posted pictures of it or really said anything about it in previous posts.

Steel frame, which is heavier but more reparable in case of emergencies. 650b (27.5″) wheels, which are nice because they allow wider tires (which in turn put more air between you and the road, making the ride smoother), but which are unfortunately not as common and therefore more difficult to replace when one hypothetically blows up. Continental Ride Tour tires, which weigh damn near a kilo a piece, but which in turn are nearly puncture-proof and extremely durable.

All told, my setup – including full water bottles – came in around 22-23kg. And with the fenders and side-mounted packs, you could add to that the aerodynamics of a parachute.

And now some things that I guess you may wonder about or that I feel are worth highlighting:

1. I had a 40-tooth chainring upfront, with 11 gears ranging from 11-42 teeth in the back. In practical terms, this meant pedaling was no longer effective above 45kph, and 20% slopes were pretty much the upper bound of what I could manage going uphill.
2. Hydraulic disc brakes. Life saver. The absolute best.
3. Max the Moose, my mascot. Named for my buddy Max, from whom I got the moose. Creative, I know. I fear the German lack of creativity in naming or describing things may have rubbed off on me.

What you can’t see here is a rearview mirror mounted into the end of my left drop bar. Amazing. Would never tour without one if I could avoid it. Also, will likely put one on my road bike, too. Just so nice to not need to turn around when looking behind me.

So, the verdict. Or the question “would I change anything”.

• Verdict is: 9/10
• Answer is: Yeah.
  • I’d switch to 700c wheels. Same general logic as when going for a steel frame: if shit hits the fan, a 700c wheel is a helluva lot easier to find a replacement for because it’s infinitely more common. And the matching tires too, for that matter.
  • I would also consider adding a 45-tooth cog in the back, if possible. Wouldn’t have been used much, but would have enabled me to entirely avoid the shame of dismounting and pushing ;)