Charlene Is Both Big and Beautiful

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The Porcelain Rocket Charlene seat bag bring gear swallowing goodness to your bike. Photo: Jim Merithew/Element.ly
The Porcelain Rocket Charlene seat bag brings gear-swallowing-goodness to your bike. Photo: Jim Merithew/Element.ly

“How can you even pedal your bike with such a large …”

Hey. Hey. Hey.

Be nice.

I have been riding my bike, trying to cut out the pastries and not eat after 8 o’clock at night.

“No. No. No. Not your gut. That giant saddle bag.”

Oh that.

My Charlene seat pack from the Canadians at Porcelain Rocket has garnered its fair share of stares and comments, but I hardly notice it is there anymore … until someone makes a comment.

Now the Porcelain Rocket Charlene isn’t even their largest seat pack. As a matter of fact they call it the “little sister” to their behemoth Mr. Fusion V2 seat pack.

I have tried a lot of baggage options for my commute: bicycle messenger bags, handlebar bags, backpacks, fanny packs, my jersey pockets, etc. But it wasn’t until one of my friends at Seven Design showed up to work with his bikepacking rig, decked out in bags, that I decided to try the oversized seat pack.

As I started my search for the perfect one, I found out the bikepacking community is not only much larger than I had ever imagined, but also crazy—almost fanatical—about their bike, bags, packing techniques and weight savings.

I found the robust website bikepacking.com to be entertaining, informative, and a nudge terrifying.

The idea of heading out in the great unknown with a bike packed with a hammock, a coffee grinder, duct tape, four old film cameras, and some beef jerky appeals to me about as much as a rectal exam.
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I understand there are people, nomads really, out there who enjoy the whole getting back to their caveman roots and “roughing it,” but I think I fall under the … a hotel without room service is roughing it type.

I enjoy a long, hard, stupid bicycle ride as much as the next person, but at the end of the day I don’t wish to pull my sleep quarters from the bicycle roll attached to my handlebars. I prefer a hot shower, a pat on the head for my dog, a kiss goodnight from my wife and the comforts of a full-size pillow. More power to those of you who think a pillow is a pillowcase filled with your dirty cycling clothes.

Which brings us back to why on earth I have this giant seat bag strapped to my honest-to-goodness road bike. Well, you see, if you have been reading, I have a bad back. And wearing a backpack has been exacerbating the situation. So now instead of carrying my rain gear, commuter wear and other essential items on my body, I have been stuffing them in Charlene.

And I could not be any happier. The bag is made of 500D Cordura, comes in a handful of color choices (I chose multicam black) and cinches down pretty snuggly. If I have stuffed it to the gills, the bag has a tendency to sway when I stand up to climb, but I wouldn’t expect otherwise. For me this is a small trade-off to keep the weight off my body.

Every morning, I leave the house before dawn secure in the fact everything I need for the day is safely stowed in my big, ol’ oversized seat bag.

Silence

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<Text Message From Mom>

08/02/15: Brian passed away peacefully at 5:20 today with the whole family around him.

There was way too much in my head, crowding around, jostling for my attention. Work. Death. Bills. Fatherhood. Family. Retirement, or lack thereof. Relationship. Dreams. Nightmares. I had to get out. I needed silence. So I left work Wednesday afternoon and rolled for an overnight on Mt. Tamalpais. As the din of San Francisco started to fade, the only sounds that mattered were that of my own breathing and the bicycle underneath me. Slowly, very slowly the noises in my head started to be replaced by solitude, exhaustion and, eventually, a sense of peace.

Sometimes we get out overnight for the camaraderie, or for joy or for exercise. Every now and then, I personally just have to go and try to find a little slice of silence to live in, even if only for a mere 12 hours.

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The S24O: Playing Hooky From Life

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There is something magical about leaving work, meeting up with some friends, and going camping for a single night in the middle of the week. It’s like playing hooky, or finding some little slice of the weekend on a Wednesday. Known as a “Sub 24 Hour Overnight“, or an S24O to the cool kids in the back of the bus, they can come from a whim, at a moment’s notice:

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With a feeling of anticipation, and maybe a touch of nervousness, gear is rapidly dug out of bins in the garage and loaded on the bike. Do I have everything? What’s missing? Crap! I’m out of fuel tabs! Where is my good bivy? Will it rain? And where in the Hell did that camping spoon go?!?! Rushing to and fro, finding, packing, loading, taking breaks to answer work emails and messages, praying that no emergencies pop up to keep me from missing that all important ride to the start of my escape from reality.

Getting to the start of an S24O by any means necessary. A ferry is one of the better means..

On the boat, and it’s almost empty. I’m swimming upstream against the tide of the commuters as they go home from their offices. Typically I am one of them. But not today. Today I worked from home, so that I could start early enough and leave early enough to have an effective departure. Leave too early and it’s trouble with the job that pays the bills. Leave too late and ride uphill into an increasingly cold, windy and dark night. There is a small, fine window for an S24O, you see. The destination, in this case Hawk Camp, has to be close enough to get to in good order, have time to set up camp and get dinner going before the temperature drops too far for comfort. The Marin Headlands is almost always fogged in, cold and damp. I’ve been there many, many nights and can count on 3 fingers the number of times I’ve seen the stars after dark.

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Nathan pauses at the bottom of the climb to Hawk Camp.

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Dirt road climbing in the Marin Headlands.

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The sun sets on Harrison as he gets closer to Hawk Camp.

On the other side, I anxiously await the arrival of my co-conspirators. Nathan is a seasoned bike tourer, with a setup to match. Harrison is a rookie, this is his first time out, riding a full suspension mountain bike with all his gear strapped to his back. Once they show up, we roll out, amidst all the cycling commuters. They have laptops and work clothes in their bags. We have sleeping pads, food, water, stoves, ground tarps, warm clothes and a bottle of rum in ours. Knowing that they’re going home to more obligations…making dinner, doing laundry, whatever else…while we’re going to sleep in the fog and listen to the coyotes heightens the pure joy of our S24O. It is, for the lack of a better phrase, a breathe of fresh air from the almost never ending daily hustle of life.

A quick stop at the Presidio Sports Basement for supplies and we’re back to fighting the wind. It’s always this way. The wind whips in off the Pacific in the late afternoon, though the gap at the Golden Gate Bridge, and shoves you around, makes you work twice as hard, turns the sidewalks around the towers on the bridge itself in to sketchy affairs on gear laden bikes. From there the 3 mile climb up to Hawk Camp is, well, it is what it is. Nathan is strong, I’m not, Harrison is but riding a heavier bike with 13lbs of gear on his shoulders. We slog and granny hear our way up, racing the setting sun and cooling temperatures.

Dinner? Dessert? Both?

But we’re outside, it’s Wednesday night, we’re going playing hooky. Life is just fiiiiinnne!

One of the joys of camping is the complete lack of anything to do at night but hang out and...talk.

The sun sets, our gear is out and the wind comes in harder. I brought a deck of playing cards but the gusts are so strong that they’ll blow away any cards set on the table. Harrison breaks out the rum, I heat up hot chocolate, we eat dinner, talk and listen to the roaring silence. That seems like a contradiction in terms, but you’ll understand if you ever camp up in the Marin Headlands. The elation of escape is gone, replaced by a tired, quiet, sleepy sense of satisfaction.

A S24O requires little equipment. Sleeping bag? Check. Sleeping pad? Check. Food, water? Check.

In the morning I wake up earlier than the boys. They’ve got a quick trip back to the office, but I have to catch a ferry back home to start the work day. The fog is still there, of course. That’s all right. It’ll clear as I cross over the Golden Gate Bridge, exposing a San Francisco that is no longer a vacation destination but the the source of our daily grind. But just outside it’s limits, the Marin Headlands await our next bout of mid week hooky.

The Oregon Outback Is Dead. Long Live The Oregon Outback

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The world of bikepacking was rocked yesterday with the unexpected and sudden death of the Oregon Outback. As with any good murder mystery, there is suspense, drama, anger, sadness and massive amounts finger pointing going on.

The Oregon Outback was both a bikepacking route and an annual race of the same name. Starting in Klamath Falls, it shoots north through Oregon, crossing high desert plains, going through woods and down into canyons populated primarily by living ghost towns, ranches and coyotes. After covering 364 miles and 14,376 ft of elevation gain, the Oregon Outback ends at the Deschutes River on the border of Washington. It is, in a word, stunning.

Donnie Kolb, the mastermind behind the route and event, pulled the plug after it’s second running. After a massively successful first year, the 2015 edition attracted even more people. At some point in time, a few unknown riders lost their common sense. Garbage and human excrement were left behind not just on the trail but in public parks and, in one case, a Good Samaritan’s barn. A local allowed a group to stay in his barn overnight in order to stay out of the rain, and they paid him back with gifts of, literally, crap left inside the building.

Angered by the trashing of his beloved Oregon and the treatment of its people, Donnie posted the following:

“So, while I had an inkling the Oregon Outback might be a bit of a shit-show this year because a lot more people would be riding, I didn’t imagine this would be why – that it would turn into a literal shit show. I’m sad and disgusted and angry, and I don’t see any other way to make this right short of shutting it down so this never happens again. I’m sorry folks, but the Oregon Outback is dead.”

In the tiny but rapidly growing bikepacking community, this is like a small atomic bomb dropping. The effect has been, sadly, people immediately pulled out their pre-existing axes and grinding them. I’ve seen posts blaming “hipsters”, the “radavisation” of the event, and “kids” who need a “good whooping growing up”. While I can appreciate a solid, blind, angry finger pointing as much as the next person, none of this does a lick of good for anyone. The bottom line is that nobody knows who did it. Blaming a broad swathe of people for the actions of a few unknown asshats makes you just as much of an asshat. So, first and foremost, to my beloved bikepacking community, whom I love with all my heart: Calm. The. Hell. Down.

The conversation we should be having, as (in theory) somewhat vaguely fully functioning adults is how this came to be, and what we can do in the future to avoid it. I for one want to see bikepacking as a whole continue to thrive. There is no better way to get outside and see the wilderness than by going camping on a bike. The more people who do it, the better. Grassroots events like the Oregon Outback are key to introducing folks to the concept. Existing riders hear about it from their friends or the various news sites, blogs, etc. Non-cyclists along the routes see us roll through town and some of them are bound to think, “Hey, that looks like it could be a pretty good way to go!”

For me, I think there are a few things to think about:

  • Education: Leave No Trace is The Rule. Personally, I think it’s more than likely that some folks who don’t have the most outdoors experience got caught up in the excitement of the Oregon Outback, went to do the event, and simply had no idea that Leave No Trace even exists. If your only previous camping was in a car, with toilets and dumpsters nearby, there is a pretty good chance you don’t know to carry a trowel in order to bury your own poop, or that you should pack out your own garbage. Event organizers in particular, and the community as a whole, need to stress the Leave No Trace ethics more. Not just once, or twice, but continually. Don’t assume that folks who show up with fancy bikepacking rigs understand what they are getting into. At the same time, don’t treat the enthusiastic rookies badly, either. We were all clueless at some point in time. I know I was. Hell, 6 years later in many ways I still am. Welcome them, educate them, and take some joy in watching them go off on their adventures.
  • Welcome all comers. One of the most disappointing things to me in the immediate aftermath of Donnie’s announcement has been the instant recriminations and accusations. Fast, serious racers started “hipster bashing”. There have been thinly veiled jabs at “racers” who are going so fast that they obviously are just crapping wherever they can. Etc, etc. Maybe I’m just naive and have too much faith in humanity, but folks, we’re better than this. I’ve turned pedals with all types while out there riding in the middle of nowhere. In the end, the common theme with all of them is a love for being on the bike, experiencing things the vast majority of people sadly don’t ever get to see. It flat out doesn’t matter if  you’re a racer, a hipster, a photographer, a fast tourer, or whatever. That love is the common thread. Drop the labels and toss your axes on the scrap pile. They aren’t needed or wanted.
  • Racing isn’t always racing. These “races” are free. No entry fees, no prize money, no support. And let’s face it, not everybody who shows up to a bikepacking “race” is going to be racing. Don’t get me wrong. I started bikepacking in 2010 purely so I could go race the Tour Divide. The outdoors wasn’t the draw for me back then, the race was. For some folks, going fast is what they show up to do. Racers will always race, even if they’re pushing shopping carts in a parking lot. The vast majority of folks, however, while they are technically “racing”, are really there for the shared experience of rolling through gorgeous scenery with a bunch of like minded people. In the end, we need to acknowledge that fact and adjust our expectations accordingly. Maybe we don’t advertise events like the Oregon Outback as a race. Maybe we just say these are bikepacking events and the fast guys get some kudos for, well, going fast, but the focus is no longer on racing. Just because the Tour Divide is a race doesn’t mean ALL bikepacking events need to be.
  • Accountability. We can have it. Perhaps we should start requiring registration and Spot trackers in order to attend bikepacking events. Would those folks have crapped all over the Good Samaritan’s barn if their Spot tracker had placed them at the scene? Maybe, maybe not. Without knowing the people involved, that’s hard to say. Regardless, it would create some accountability for actions taken, as well as making sure people have a safe out if they get into trouble.
Ft. Rock, Oregon Outback

The Oregon Outback as an event is dead. But the Oregon Outback as a bikepacking route continues to exist, and it is absolutely incredible. In the end, we can’t let the actions of a few people be the last thing the folks in Oregon experience of the bikepacking community. The only true way to repair that damage is for people to go ride it on their own. Be kind to the locals, appreciate what they have to offer, enjoy the beauty that Donnie and the Oregon Bikepacking crew were trying to share with everybody in the first place. Just because the annual event is gone doesn’t mean you still can’t get out there to do it. The route itself is one of the best I’ve ever ridden. I’ll be going back myself, some day, armed with a 4×5 pinhole camera and 50 sheets of film! And a really, really big granny gear.