Posted by Les Faber in Mid-Winter I was contacted by Finley Fagan, an Australian Ex-Pat who had just completed a European cycling saga with his Canadian partner Zoa. Oh, did I forget to mention that they did this with 2 dogs in tow.
Following is Fin & Zoa’s story…. Read to the end. It’s worth it!As we pedal into town heads turn, eyebrows raise, conversations are interrupted, fingers are pointed, and often a series of chuckles can be heard. Some people look bemused, some people look ecstatic, some people look appalled, but regardless, people look.
“You are crazy!”…. “This is the best, this is the best, this is the best!!!!”…. “It must take a certain kind of madness.”…. “Can I take a photo?” Yes, it seems that cycling with dogs is a foolproof way of engaging the curiosity of strangers.
Unlikely Beginnings
Our unlikely story begins in the dark of an Icelandic winter, where an Australian boy meets a Canadian girl. Two odd socks, far from home, our eyes met across the steamy kitchen of a Reykjavik hostel.
Six months later we were living together in Belgium, our lives a fluster of excited activity. Jobs were quit, drawers were emptied, drawers were sold. It was a time of wanderlust and dreaming, and anything was possible. Never mind that we had never changed a flat tire before, and never mind that I had barely touched a bicycle since I was a child, we were off to experience the world one pedal at a time.
It all sounds very minimalist, a little bit Zen maybe? Stripping away the material world, paring your possessions down to what can fit on the back of a bike. Unfortunately minimalism is a very subjective concept, and to the motor-less traveler weight is an enemy. Every kilogram saved could be an extra litre of water, or one less kilogram of strain on your body or bicycle. Sensible cyclists cut off the unnecessary edges of their maps. Sensible cyclists remove the unnecessary options from their multi-tools. Sensible cyclists do NOT carry six books, a guitar and two dogs.
Dogs? Yes, and not some paperweight Chihuahuas either. Zoa had rescued the two abandoned dogs: Jack, a 40 kilogram Husky/Retriever/Grizzly-Bear cross, was found emaciated and with his front teeth gnawed down from chewing at his chain. Paco, a wiry 15 kilogram Portuguese Podengo, was found running amongst traffic, scared of the world.
Nobody wanted to look after them for such a long journey, nor did we want to abandon them again. Blissfully ignorant of what we were getting ourselves into, our two furry sidekicks added 60 kilograms of luggage in one hefty swoop. To accommodate the bigger dog Jack we added a trailer in tow, and for Paco we sought out Surly’s long-tail frame, the Big Dummy.
Our new lives began along the canals of Flemish Belgium. While we came to terms with our unfamiliar bikes, fluorescent packs of racing cyclists flew by, a blur of neon jerseys and pizza slicing wheels. On day one we were all pedals, cycling well into the night, but on day two we awoke to fierce headwinds and exhausted legs. Forget about the racing bikers, we were even being overtaken by Grandmas now!!
The indignation came to a crescendo when I lost the balance of my overloaded bike beside a steep gully. A moment of horror and then…. Oh sh… cartwheels of flesh and steel, sky and earth. A triple summersault in the tuck position and then thud… a crash landing into a bed of fiery stinging nettles. Luckily we escaped with only minor injuries, the worst being my severely bruised ego as I hauled everything back up to the road to the amusement of on-looking racing cyclists.
Rising to the Challenge
As the pancake flats of Flemish Belgium rose into the waffled Wallonian Ardennes we faced an entirely new challenge; hills, and steep ones at that! Completely untested, we attacked the first hill with the eagerness of virgins. We thrashed away at the pedals and fumbled with the gears like amateurs. Panting and exhausted we ground to an early stop.
Downhills were little better. Paco was still adjusting to high speeds, and it seemed that anything over 50 kilometres an hour literally scared the shit out of him. Gravity was laughing in our face. We were being defeated by the anthills of Belgium, how were we going to handle steep, snowy mountain passes?
Cue the music… ok, why not… Eye of the Tiger, and begin the montage…
The camera sweeps across the mountains of Switzerland and zooms in towards the team, who are mountain biking along the Swiss-French border. The trailer is flipping over rocks and the weary travelers are struggling up an endless series of gravel switchbacks. The scene jumps to a quiet village in the French countryside and a group of donkeys are loose on the road.
The dogs are hysterical, yelping and pulling the bikes up, up, and over the tops of gorges and on through frosted volcanoes. Hunting season begins and the team is woken by the sound of gunfire, wild boars and hunting dogs scuttling past their tent at three in the morning. The guitar is given away, more weight is lost and the kilometers tick by.
Onwards and upwards, the team climbs, into the hiking trails of the Pyrenees, the mountainous frontier between France and Spain. While the humans take it in turns to carry their bikes over the boulders and into the mist, the dogs chase sheep through steep birch forest. They camp in the clouds and wake up in a puddle, sleeping bags completely drenched.
On they go, weaving nimbly between the pilgrims of northern Spain and into the vineyards of Portugal, the valleys ablaze in Autumn splendor. The team clink Port glasses, but then suffer a broken rim on a busy truck route, and hitch-hike into a shanty town for repairs. As they arrive to the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, snow is beginning to fall, and the team takes refuge in a cave over winter.
February brings sunshine, almond blossoms, and the white walled villages of the Alpujarras, while Tuscany brings glorious avenues of cypress trees, lush, bulbous hills and sweat drenched t-shirts. The camera zooms into the cobblestone streets of Orvieto in Italy, and the big dog Jack being surrounded like a movie star. Cameras are being flashed and children are cueing up to pet him and buy him treats. “Ciao bello! Ciao bello!!!”
Still they push on with gritted teeth, through tunnels dark and dangerous and over the majestic Dolomite Mountains. They tackle their highest pass yet at 2236 metres altitude, via a series of 29 hairpin turns, and collapse at the summit.
They are camping in front of libraries, in abandoned buildings, underneath parked semi-trailers, nothing is off limits anymore.
The montage culminates in the 18% grades of the Wurzen pass from Austria into Slovenia, the cyclists grinding, and the dogs panting up the edge of the road until their heads feel like they are about to explode. The fearless four reach the summit, yelling and howling their lungs out to the clouds for dramatic effect.
Almost one year after our shaky beginnings in Belgium, the music fades out and the story resumes.
The setting: Moravske Toplice, in north-eastern Slovenia. The event: my first bicycle race. Perfect! Time to get revenge on all of those smirking racing cyclists in their tight little outfits and their featherweight bikes. Much to the amusement of everyone else I took to the starting line, unloaded except for my sidekick Paco. What’s the matter? Never seen a dog in a cycling race before?
The gun fired, and we were off. Sunshine, blue skies, cranking pedals and rolling rubber. Relieved of 50 odd kilograms of luggage, it felt remarkably easy. I held back early before overtaking large groups of racing cyclists on the outside. Who’s laughing now? Ha!
The flats turned to rolling hills, and an ominous blanket of clouds rolled in. I cranked as hard as possible in high gear until my legs were aching and my lungs burning. It wasn’t enough, I was losing ground. The clouds broke open and the pitter patter soon increased to a thundering downpour. Many cyclists pulled off the road to find shelter, and many more turned back for home.
Like a madman I pedaled on into the driving rain. My pulsating ego and the novelty of the race were washing away. All that was left was a hollow feeling of futility and despair. Only one thing was certain: I was now lost among the frontier towns of the former Iron Curtain on a bicycle with a sopping wet dog.
How has my life come to this point? Am I cycling through some kind of parable? Am I about to awaken in a darkened apartment from another forgotten dream? Or am I just suffering from a certain kind of madness?
Why???
We often wonder the same thing. Our lives are not glamorous or sexy in any way. We are often grimy, wet and smelly, our clothes covered in dog hair. There are long and monotonous roads, extreme weather, and dangerous drivers.
Then there are the moments that make you want to scream. The time Paco peed all over the sleeping bags because Jack was given a treat and not him. Improvising with broken tent pegs, duct tape and zip ties to fix the broken dog trailer during gale force winds. Having to sleep in a barn scattered with toilet paper and human feces to avoid freezing in a snowstorm.
Yet for all of the struggles, there is something addictive and satisfying about it all. A simple life on the open road. An unhurried life, without timetables or deadlines beyond the weather and the changing seasons. It is a life that breaks down many more fears and stereotypes than it creates. A life of routine which also challenges, stimulates, and offers endless surprises. For us, the final destination is not the point, it is about finding joy within the daily grind.
So many times people have told us that “what you are doing is my dream, BUT….” But what? We have also met paraplegics touring on hand powered bikes, cyclists with very little money busking and ‘containering’ to get by, cycling families who are home schooling their children along the way, and women in their 70’s crossing continents in cotton shirts and non-technical underpants.
If you are dreaming of pedaling into the horizon, make no excuses. Your very own journey is available on a bicycle saddle near you. Sit down, shut up and pedal.
After pedaling a 17,000km loop around Europe, Fin, Zoa, Jack and Paco are heading to Nova Scotia to save up for their next ride around Canada and the Americas.
You can read more about Fin & Zoa’s travels on their Blog.
The idea of a huge journey like this is one of my dreams too. I can’t believe you did it with two dogs. One day I will do it and this story will be one of the reasons. Thanks