Open canoes have many advantages, but they all share one shortcoming. There’s a gaping hole in the top just waiting to swallow the next big breaker, and a single wave — if it’s big enough — can swamp a canoe in a hurry. One minute you’re paddling. And the next? It’s swim time. That doesn’t mean canoes can’t venture beyond Golden Pond, of course. Canoeists have been keeping their heads above rough waters for as long as there’ve been canoes to paddle. What’s their secret? Skill, for one thing. Caution, for another. And then there’s Plan B: adding extra flotation for the times when skill and caution simply aren’t enough. The recipe is pretty straightforward. If you cram securely tethered float bags into every empty corner of a canoe, you’ll have an (almost) unsinkable craft. A flotation‑filled canoe is nearly impossible to swamp, and with enough practice you can even roll it back up on the rare occasions when it does go over.

But there’s another way to address the problem cause by the canoe’s too‑open embrace of stray waves: just plug the hole. Put a fabric cover on your canoe, in other words, thereby transforming it into a decked boat. As readers of my earlier article on this subject may remember, I’m not exactly a big fan of this approach. Still, I’ve never claimed to have the last word on the matter (or any other, come to that), and sure enough, while some readers cheered me on, others wrote in to set me straight. Now it’s their turn to be heard. But first, let’s take a quick look at the letter that started it all… Read more…

 
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Who was that at the bird feeder? Yet another jay? I stood at my office window, camera in hand, and my patience was rewarded: I got the photo on the right. The subject came as something of a surprise, however. Blue jays had been swarming around the woodpecker’s suet feeders for days, hewing off great chunks of fat to feed their apparently insatiable offspring. But this certainly wasn’t a jay. I’d never seen a robin show any interest in suet before. Still, robins don’t read the guidebooks, do they?

It’s easy to lump all birds of a feather together, failing to recognize that each one is an individual. Another robin, now raising her young in the hedgerow, sings a unique tune, a melody I’ve never heard before from any other robin. And now this—a robin who thinks she’s a jay. Or a woodpecker. She forages for earthworms, to be sure. But she likes cherries, too, and attacks them in much the same way a heron spears an incautious frog, shaking the fruit until it breaks into bite-sized bits and then leaving only the pit for foraging chipmunks.

The robin’s taste for cherries was the first thing to get my attention. Then one day I noticed she was watching the blue jays as they chose and ate black oil sunflower seeds. “Watching” isn’t quite the right word, in fact. The robin was observing the jays, studying their every movement. Soon she decided to give seeds a try herself. She seized one, selected a branch, and struggled to place the small seed just so, wedged firmly between foot and branch. It took her a awhile to get the knack, but she persevered, and before long she succeeded in freeing the tasty meat from its protective coat.

Having mastered this skill, the robin then turned her attention to the suet cages. She watched from the cover of the lilacs as swarms of jays chiseled great gobs of fat into their ever-open beaks.

Before long, she’d joined the jays at the suet. (The suet cakes, purchased from Nottawa Bird Supply, are clearly labeled “Woodpecker Blend,” but this apparently fools no one.) And here she is, caught with the evidence of her unsanctioned behavior still clinging to her beak:

What will “my” robin turn her beak to next? Will I find her pounding holes in the old stumps in search of grubs, as the woodpeckers do? Or will I look outside one morning to find her hanging from the sock stuffed full of niger seed, joining the finches at their breakfast? Neither would surprise me. This robin isn’t one to be hobbled by convention!

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The Surly Long Haul Trucker has a devoted following, and for good reason. It’s a workhorse of a bike, able to tackle every kind of task from hauling the shopping and exploring the neighborhood to cyclotours in the world’s most remote regions. A week ago, Pat McKay was enjoying the country roads near his home when he spotted a beautiful field of sunflowers just coming into bloom. He couldn’t resist shooting a picture of his LHT against this stunning backdrop, so he pulled his Canon DSLR from the Acorn Boxy Rando ‘bar bag and captured the moment forever.

Click on the photo to open an enlargement in a new window. Pat outfitted his LHT with a Velo Orange decaleur to help secure the Rando bag, which rests on a Nitto rack. The rear rack is also a Nitto, and Pat parks his LHT with the help of a Pletscher double kickstand, with which he has a love-hate relationship. He got the bell and fenders from VO, too, and his saddlebag is also made by Acorn. Pat’s obviously impressed with Acorn’s workmanship, and while his bags aren’t advertised as waterproof, the contents remained dry even when he was caught by sudden thunderstorm.

A beautiful bike in a fabulous setting, wouldn’t you say? Thanks for letting us publish your photo, Pat!

We love our bikes, right? And we never tire of looking at them. At least I don’t, and if I’m to judge from what others tell me, I’m not alone. So each Sunday I’ll publish a bike-related picture. Most of the time it will be a photo, but don’t be surprised if a few drawings and paintings get added to the mix from time to time. I might even include a sculpture or two. (OK. A photo of a sculpture.) Anything, in short, that evokes the world on two wheels. And don’t be shy. If you have a picture you’d like to share, just email it to me. I’ll do the rest.

 
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