It was Sunday morning. The day was cool, with an impatient breeze that hinted at rain to come. Traffic was light, and I was on the home stretch of a 20-mile circuit when I glanced at my rearview mirror and noticed a roadie behind me. He was the first cyclist I’d seen that day, and he was closing the distance between us fast. When he drew alongside he slowed briefly to exchange greetings and then moved off, giving me just enough time to take in the details of his classic Bianchi. Soon he was lost to sight round the next bend in the road.

A few minutes later, I was on the brink of the shallow dip that precedes “Everest,” a mile-long climb marking the location of an ancient outwash delta. The road rose ahead of me like a wall, but when I looked down into the dip I was surprised to see the Bianchi in a parking lot just off the road on the right. The roadie who’d passed me only minutes before was now bent over his machine, studying the rear mech intently (“Mech” is Brit for “derailleur,” and it’s a lot easier to say.) He didn’t look happy, so I pulled into the parking lot to see if I could help. The problem turned out to be a familiar one: The roadie had thrown his chain while shifting, not once, but twice. A quick tweak of the limit screw would fix things, but… He didn’t have screwdriver. I rummaged around in my seat pack and handed him mine. As I did so, I noticed that he didn’t have a pump, either. That was really traveling light, I thought.

Tweaking the limit screw only took a minute or so. The roadie handed back my screwdriver and thanked me, as the first lazy drops of rain smacked against our helmets. I got back on my bike. The roadie looked down the road. Then he looked up at the sky. Then he shook his head. “Guess I’ll head back to town,” he said. And he did. I started climbing. Fifteen minutes later I’d reached the final rung in the ladder—the 18 percent grade on my doorstep. I was home. And the roadie? I hoped he’d made it without getting a flat. The rain was now bucketing down. He wouldn’t have much fun pushing a disabled bike along the highway shoulder in a downpour.

As I cleaned up, I thought about our brief encounter. If I hadn’t had a few tools in my seat pack, what would the roadie have done? Walk home, presumably. And if he’d had trouble farther down the road, what then? There’s a lot of empty in the Adirondack foothills, and there’s not much traffic on the roads on Sunday mornings. Moreover, cell-phone coverage is spotty, at best. You can’t count on calling home to get a ride. He could have had a very long walk, indeed. In the cold rain.

 
But I did have tools in my seat pack. I always do. And I carry even more in my handlebar bag, along with a selection of spare parts. Here’s the complete rundown, beginning with the contents of my seat pack:

• • Spare tire tube
• • Self-adhesive patches
• • Tire levers
• • Hex wrenches (Allen keys)
• • Spoke wrench
• • Chain tool
• • Multi-tool (Leatherman knock-off)
• • Vinyl gloves
• • Cotton rags

And here’s what’s in my ‘bar bag:

• • Tire patch kit
• • Spare brake and derailleur cables
• • Combo Phillips & slotted screwdriver
• • 8mm Allen key
• • 8mm and 10mm combo open-ended wrench
• • Cone wrenchs (13-15mm and 17-18mm)
• • Combo wrench (31mm & 36mm headset spanner & 13-15mm cone/pedal wrench)
• • Lifu mini crank extractor
• • Bottom bracket tool
• • Stein cassette remover
• • Spare brake and derailleur cables
• • Inner tube sections (mostly for padding)
• • Vinyl gloves

And that’s not all. I bring other things as well:

• • Frame pump
• • Mini-pump (as a spare on long trips)
• • Tire boot
• • Spare spokes
• • Kickstand support
• • Cable and U-locks (trips to town, mostly)
• • Removable headlight (does double duty as flashlight)
• • Cyclometer
• • Straps and bungee cords

 

• • HALT! repellent spray (2-3 cans)
• • Two to three full water bottles
• • More water in a collapsable bladder (long trips)
• • Water purification tablets (long trips)
• • First aid kit
• • Foul-weather gear
• • Bandanna(s)
• • Reflective ankle straps
• • Whistle

 

• • Cell phone
• • Maps
• • Reading glasses
• • Keys
• • Wallet
• • Lip balm and sunscreen
• • Spare protective eyewear
• • Notebook, sketchbook, pen, and pencils
• • Butane lighter
• • Food in snacker bag and handlebar bag
• • Rack trunk with camera and lenses (and sometimes a tripod)

Not exactly traveling light, eh? And I pay for each item in my kit afresh every time I climb a hill. I don’t set many records on the flats, either. But as a famous man once said, “There’s more to life than increasing its speed.” Freedom isn’t free. If I want to be able to pass gas pumps without stopping and to ride far off the beaten track without having to walk back, I can’t begrudge the weight of a few tools and a couple of water bottles. So I don’t. It’s a small price to pay for freedom, and freedom is what riding a bike is all about. ‘Nuff said? I think so.

 
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