Tales From The Top Tube: Midnight in the bike shop of steel frames and panniers

In Dan Austin's book "The Road Trip Pilgrim's Guide" he talks briefly about the magic you discover on a bike tour. In long distance hiking, people call this "trail magic". Random acts of kindness, a warm bed to sleep in for free, not getting kicked out of the alleyway you slept in behind the LDS Seminary building next to Ogden High while on a musical and ecological bike tour -- things of that nature. I am a believer in magic on the trail, but sometimes you experience the magic while helping strangers embark on their own journeys.


I didn't think my night was going to turn into much on Saturday, after I left the bike shop. My plans were lucid and the evening young. I remembered that I had left my dinner in the fridge at the shop and went back to get it when Mark arrived. Having arrived early to the airport to pick up two Australians that are starting a bike tour around the west on Monday, he had returned to shop to wait an hour longer. Surprised to see me typing away at the computer (on Facebook, no doubt), he asked me to help him with their bikes.

Their noble steeds are two, black, Surly Long Haul Truckers; one with silver fenders, the other with black. Hung in parallel work stands in the back of the shop they lay resting like two sleeping stallions, waiting for their new owners and to make their way into the country to saddle them up for three months of riding around the west.

When our Australian friends came through the door of the shop I greeted them and asked their names, which quickly escaped me. We brought their bikes out from the back for their approval and final adjustments. They quickly unpacked their boxes of panniers and racks for us to install; new Brooks saddles, Topeak racks, Ortlieb panniers and Shimano pedals. As Mark and I put the final touches on their bikes, the conversation stayed lively. Politics, rugby, American slang and Australian slang (turns out "Fo sho" is universal), what we studied at "uni" and their plans for their tour around the west.

As the night waxed on, I found myself feeling that same magic I felt while touring in Utah and in Germany. I wasn't the one going on a bike tour, so why did I feel this way? My feet began to feel itchy when I remembered I had sold my panniers three weeks ago to a needy med student. My ability to take time off is also severely limited, thus narrowing my options for a tour. The magic I was feeling was from helping this couple start their adventure. There is magic in the process of helping someone taking to the open road.

When we finally left the shop a little after midnight, I road with my new found Australian friends to the hostel they were staying at in The Avenues. After shaking hands and parting ways I began to think about when my next tour would happen and where. All this talk about Yosemite and the west had me antsy about heading out for Thanksgiving. As I pedaled myself up the hill to my apartment, I swear I felt my Salsa Casseroll wanting to ride off into the night. "Another day," I told it silently.


CPPJ

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