I’ve been riding bikes nearly all my life, but it was decades before I ever saw anyone riding a recumbent bicycle. I’d never seen anything like it. The cyclist was reclining and relaxed, spinning along at speed down the highway shoulder with an orange flag on a bendy stalk flying behind him. I was driving at the time, not riding my bike, so I didn’t get a chance to speak with him, and in a few moments he was out of sight behind me. That was perhaps 20 years ago. Recumbent bikes and trikes are a lot more common now, and quite a few of my correspondents ride their ‘bents, some of them more often than their diamond frame bikes.

I’ve never pedaled a recumbent bike, but I must say that the thought of sitting back to relax in the middle of a long climb is a very appealing one—just lock the brake and stretch out for a rest. ‘Bents are intriguing for other reasons, too, and someday I might give one a try. In the meantime, I’m learning more about them by reading Penny and Rob Mackenzie’s The Recumbent Blog. Even if you’re not a ‘bent rider, you owe it to yourself to visit their site frequently just for the pleasure of their company. If you are a recumbent cyclist, you’ll be able to keep up with the latest technologies and news about anything ‘bent. Don’t overlook the stunning photos in the “Gallery,” either. If you’re new to ‘bents but don’t know where to begin learning about them, check out The Recumbent Blog‘s “Glossary of Terms,” and learn about the different designs in “Recumbent Types.” And if you’re wondering what would motivate anyone to take their cycling lying down, reading “Why Ride a Recumbent?” will clue you in. So what are you waiting for? Take a spin on over the The Recumbent Blog. Enjoy!

 
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The Surly Long Haul Trucker is hard to beat for, well, the LONG HAUL. Mine’s gone everywhere I’ve asked it to go and for as long as I wanted to be out. It’s hauled every load I’ve put on it—up to 50 pounds on the rear rack. It’s comfortable and rugged, and I have every confidence that my LHT would hold up on the most ambitious tour. Because of the long rear triangle, the largest panniers sit far enough back so that I have no problem with heel strike, even though I ride the smallest frame Surly builds for this bike (42 cm), and even though I have long feet for my size. But there are times when I don’t want to haul loads in a pannier. Though the LHT will cope with heavy weights in panniers, once the load exceeds about 30 pounds, I prefer to use a bike trailer.

Bike trailers come in a variety of designs, but generally the choice breaks down into whether to buy a dual-wheeled trailer or an in-line, single-wheeled trailer. Each has its proponents and advantages. My preference is for dual-wheeled trailers. While they will not cope with the kind of singletrack routes Vik traversed on his CDR trek, for most of the places where I’d want to haul a load, a two-wheeled trailer works well. And as a rugged trailer that matches the steely resolve of the LHT, the Croozer trailer is hard to beat. Its rugged good looks hint at its utilitarian capabilities, and its solid, no-nonsense construction are impressive, and so is the relatively low price tag. In the weeks to come Outside Up North will be putting a Croozer trailer through its paces, and we’ll report on what we find. Stay tuned!

 
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A Note to the Reader Jack Van Dorn is worried about Ed and Brenna. There’s been no news from northern Ontario, and he’s beginning to think that their “trip of a lifetime” might be turning out to be just that. Then he decides to stop worrying and DO something—but has he left it too late?

 
Our story continues…

 
Chapter Twenty-Seven

 
“Now what! For Chrissake….” Jack’s booming voice filled the Subaru Forester, his words slamming back and forth like water sloshing in a basin. Molly winced, while Jack braked hard and skidded to a stop. The old man drummed his thumbs against the wheel and grumbled. It was the sort of sound an aging lion might make. The sun beat down on the long line of idling cars. The day was still and hot. The stink of exhaust was overpowering.

“A roadblock,” Molly said unnecessarily. “And you don’t even have a driver’s license!” There was a hint of panic in her voice. “Better slide over and let me get behind the wheel.”

“Why’n hell they put a roadblock here, g’dammit?” Jack asked, not really expecting an answer. But he made no effort to change places with Molly.

The first car in line was turning around now. Soon it was headed back the way they’d just come. The second car followed, and then the third. Their drivers didn’t look happy. The fourth vehicle was a rusty red pickup. It was waved through.

Each time the line moved up, Jack crept forward, grinding the unfamiliar gearbox.

Molly was having second thoughts. “Maybe we should just turn around now,” she suggested. Jack gave no sign he’d heard.

“I really should be driving,” Molly added, determined to carry at least one point.

Jack still said nothing. More cars were turned back. Jack let up too fast on the clutch, stalled out, and swore reflexively. He restarted the engine. They crept forward. An Army National Guard Humvee was parked on the shoulder of the road just ahead. The driver’s door was open, but the vehicle’s interior was in shadow. Molly tried to see if anyone was inside. She had no luck.

A single guardsman stood on the double yellow centerline across from the Humvee. He stooped down to peer into a low-slung, classic Impala. It was painted a glossy black—as glossy and black as the long hair on the heads of the five young men seated inside. A large, barred feather hung from the rear-view mirror. The soldier straightened up and waved the Impala through. It accelerated away from the checkpoint, tires squealing. A pall of hot rubber and raw gas remained behind.

Jack turned toward Molly, winked, and patted her knee. Then he jerked the Subaru forward and stopped beside the guardsman. Jack rolled down the window. The heat hit him like a hammer. He looked up. The guardsman’s name tag said COLLAMER. He started to speak, but Jack beat him to it: “Hell and damnation, soldier! You ain’t gonna hold us up any longer, are ya? You do that, and Mother’s gonna have her baby right here!”

Private Collamer squinted into the Subaru. His head was swimming with the heat and the fumes, but the lady in the car didn’t look very pregnant to him. And anyway, she looked way too old to be having anybody’s baby. “Sir…,” he began, but Jack didn’t let him get any further. “Listen up!” he roared, “You got hearin’ trouble, maybe? I tole ya Mother’s having a baby. It’s comin’ early, and I gotta get her into hospital! NOW! You gonna take your hand off my door and wave us on, or ….” Just then, Molly let out a long groan.… Read more…

 
Hooked? A new chapter in our serial adventure novel, Trip of a Lifetime, will appear every Sunday. If you’ve missed a chapter, or if you’re coming aboard for the first time and want to catch up, just use the hot-linked title to go to the archives.

 
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A REMINDER This is a work of fiction. All the characters are figments of the imaginations. It’s NOT a paddling guide. If you’re planning a trip on the Albany River—or any other body of water, come to that—consult the most recent edition of a good guidebook and be sure you’re thoroughly familiar with all applicable regulations. While maps of Ontario show some of the waterways mentioned here, the places depicted in our story exist only in our minds—and in yours.