Written by admin on June 6, 2019

¿Todo en bicicleta?

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Seven weeks ago, I left behind a comfortable life in San Francisco with a mission on my mind: to ride a bicycle across the continent of South America.

“¿Todo en bicicleta?”

Todo. From the turquoise shores of the Caribbean in Cartagena de las Indies, Colombia, to the Antarctic currents scraping Ushuaia, Argentina. In between, the jungle-matted altos of Colombia, the volcanic paramo of Ecuador, the heavenly cordilleras of Peru, the alien altiplano of Bolivia, the barren desiertos of the Atacama and Argentina, the lush costa of Chile, and the vast fiordos y pampas of Patagonia.

An idea that began as a whimsical two-month sabbatical in Chile, has grown into a year-long monster. Google search by google search, I’ve uncovered more and more places I want to see and routes I want to bike, and accordingly increased the length of the journey longer and longer. At this point, the ultimate deadline is when the fuego-less island of Tierra del Fuego becomes too cold to bike across – the end of next March, more or less. I’ve mapped out every mile of the next ten months, with a destination for nearly every night, despite the full expectation that I’ll throw all plans to the wind with the casual recommendation of a trustworthy local.

“¿Por qué?”

I can talk all day about the various reasons why I felt the need to extract myself from my job and breathe freedom before life leaves me wondering “what if?”. But the most important reason why, is:

Why not?

Challenge is my closest companion. I am inspired by ideas which teeter on the edge of possibility. So once I realized that I had the means, the desire, the capability and opportunity to make this idea happen – How could I not try?

But lest the previous paragraph be interpreted as proud, let’s make one thing perfectly clear – I am not the first person to do this, not even close. I’ve read what seems like hundreds of blogs by people who bike from Alaska to Patagonia, or vice versa, and then move on to other continents. Bike touring is as old as bikes themselves. I’m not trying to prove anything to anyone, not even myself (the latter of which I’ve struggled with in the past). “Nobody doubts that you can ride your bike ten thousand miles,” a friend told me. “It’s the in between parts that will challenge you.” This trip is not just about biking. It’s about putting myself completely out of my comfort zone. It’s about developing the dimensions of a personality that was becoming all too linear after spending ten years toggling between Excel, Outlook, and Powerpoint. I’m learning Spanish. I’ll have time to read and write, to exercise the long dormant creative side of my brain. I’ll study the history and culture of each country I pass through. I’ll be forced to escape my introverted tendencies to ask locals and other travelers about routes, garner recommendations, solve problems, and simply avoid loneliness. And by traveling via bicycle, I’ll be able to see the in-between places that tourist buses skip over in their rush from one magazine-fold destination to another. On a bicycle, I’ll learn to live sparingly with only the belongings that I truly need. On a bicycle, I’ll have the freedom to go where I want, when I want — albeit, not that quickly! But I want to experience things slowly, without the pressure to see everything and anything before rushing back to my office after a week of frenzied travel.

“¿Cual bicicleta?”

Enough of the sappy stuff, and on to the dream machine. I custom designed her with the help of Topanga Creek Outpost, the raddest and friendliest bicycle shop in existence, nestled in the Santa Monica Mountains near LA. These guys know bikepacking gear better than anyone in California, but you’d hardly know it by the casual way they invite you to race paper hat-boats in the creek behind their shop or close their doors four days a week to ride bikes because being open “cramps their riding style.” With their help, I chose most parts on the bike with a specific purpose in mind: The bike must NOT break, at all costs!

The steel frame is a Surly Ogre. It’s a mountain bike, but it’s made for bike touring. Which means the geometry is a little bit more relaxed, upright, and ergonomic than a race-oriented bike. I call it my All-Terrain Beach Cruiser.

The drivetrain – Believe it or not, I am not planning on conquering the Peruvian Andes on a singlespeed. All 14 gears are ingeniously receded into the hub of the back wheel. (Or, “la manzana,” as Colombians call it, since the hub resembles an apple core). It’s a feat of German engineering by a company called Rohloff, and it costs more, in both pesos and pesa – but it’s an investment in never having to wash or adjust or replace a derailleur, ever. Over ten thousand miles, derailleur issues would add up for a lazy guy like me.

29” tubeless tires, 2.4” wide (Maxxis tires/Stan’s rims). The frame lacks suspension (which would require unwanted maintenance), but the large tires allow me to ride dirt roads without fracturing my tailbone. They also make South American 26″ mountain bikes look like they just shed their kiddie training wheels.

Mechanical disc brakes (Avid BB7) allow adequate stopping power without the fragility and maintenance requirements of hydraulic brakes. Who needs strong brakes anyway? I’ve seen plenty of kids on the lomas of Medellín scraping to a stop with the soles of their shoes.

The Jones handlebars look odd, but allow multiple ergonomic handholds to change my aching body position. They also make me feel like I’m piloting a tie-fighter.

The front manzana is a “Dynamo hub.” (SON) It generates electricity from the rotation of the front wheel and sends it to a USB port in the stem, to power my devices. What, did you think I was actually going to rough it without my phone fully charged at all times? At least I stopped short of installing a mobile wifi zone.

“¿No llevas equipaje?”

As little as I can for an obsessively materialistic American.

The bedroom – Tent, sleeping bag, pad. Honestly, I don’t plan on using these that often, since accommodations are so cheap in South America. But they’re there in case there’s a spider or something scary in my hotel room.

The toolshed – Most of it relates to fixing tires (tubes, pump, levers, plugs, sealant, CO2, tape, patches, valves, valve stems, adapters, etc), but I’m also carrying extra brake pads, cables, spokes, chainlinks, oil, lube, wrenches, screwdrivers, and other tools). And if I can’t fix it, I’m not going to be ashamed to hop on a bus or hitch a ride to the next town.

The kitchen – Stove, dishware, water purifier, alimentos. I’m not planning on hosting any dinner parties; I’ll normally be eating out since it’s cheap and easy here, but I need to have the backup.

The washroom – I suppose I’ll try to maintain some semblance of hygiene with basic toiletries. I also have my first aid kit and trusty pill cabinet which is primarily stocked for preventing Montezuma’s revenge (Pepto, Immodium, Cipro, and Azithromycin), altitude sickness (Diamox), malaria (Atovaquone), and hangovers (Ibuprofen).

The closet – My wardrobe consists of two on-the-bike shirts, two off-the-bike shirts, pants, one pair of shorts, chamois bike liners, four pairs of socks and four pairs of underwear. Fear not – the majority of the clothes are anti-microbial (merino wool, or otherwise) such that I won’t completely reek after sweating through the jungle all day. Three pairs of shoes – bike shoes with clips but also hefty rubber soles to double as hiking shoes, and both Allbirds and sandals for relaxing depending on the climate and mood my feet are in. For inclement weather, I’m also carrying three jackets (one for rain, one for warmth, one for moderate wind), rain pants, shoe covers, gloves, hat, and buff. Also for inclement weather, I’ll post up in the nearest palm-thatched hut for as long as need be.

The control room – I’m carrying enough electronics that I’m worried about having the opportunity to charge them all. A phone (duh), GPS/Satellite messenger (Garmin InReach), GoPro, Garmin watch, a bluetooth keyboard, a bike headlight, and a big ol’ battery just in case I can’t pedal uphill fast enough to charge my devices with my manzana.

Extra bag – Dammit, I have no idea what is in this bag. The stuff that didn’t fit in the other bags. Hopefully I shed some of it along the way!

“¿Con quien?”

Everybody asks who I’m doing this with. As if I could convince another one of my buddies to take a year off to bike 100km everyday with me. The stars didn’t align that way. However, I’m hoping to have some friends join me for short bits along the way. Not to name drop, but if you feel like exerting some peer pressure on Patrick Glover, Ryan Spurlock, Brian Kuczynski, Bremner Morris, Ryan Toohey, or Stefan Linder, I would appreciate it. Others happily invited too!

“¿Que mas?”

The ride begins Sunday, June 8. So what have I been doing since I quit work seven weeks ago? Well, I had to brush up on a few things. First, I took a forty hour vocational bike mechanic course in Colorado at Barnett Bike Institute, because I could barely fix a flat tire previously. After that, I flew to Medellín with my wonderful girlfriend.

Liz didn’t do what most normal people would when I told her I wanted to spend ten months biking across a foreign continent by myself. Rather than break up with me because I’m crazy, she provided the pivotal encouragement and support that pushed me to the starting line in Cartagena today. We spent four weeks exploring Colombia together and learning more and more about each other everyday. When she left last week, everything felt empty. But Liz is simultaneously beginning her own adventure, studying public policy at Brown for the next year. We couldn’t be more excited for each other and I can’t imagine doing this without her.

Oh, and another minor detail of preparation was that I had to learn Spanish. From scratch. It’s been five weeks of intensive study at Colombia Immersion Spanish School, and I think I am finally beginning to understand enough to realize that not every person in the street is talking shit about me.

I sincerely hope that this was the driest, wordiest piece that I write on this blog. From now on, I’m aiming to write short stories and insights from the road, accompanied by many, many photos. I would love it if you would please, please, reach out to me with feedback, encouragement, and news from your life! The hardest part of doing this was leaving my community of friends. It will be so meaningful to me to stay in touch with you while I’m on the road!

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