A freshening breeze gouged deep creases in the surface of the little lake and made the branches in the tall pines dance. Though this was Canoe Country, we were in kayaks, and for once I was glad we’d opted for decked craft rather than our Tripper, even if it did make the frequent portages something of a chore (notwithstanding our Freighter frames‑cum‑portage yokes). Then I caught sight of a solo canoeist in our wake, headed the same way we were. We reached the take‑out at the head of the trail before he did, but I was still wrestling dry bags out of my kayak’s recesses when he arrived on the scene. And he certainly beached his craft in style, the canoe’s keel hissing softly as it plowed a furrow through the sandy bottom in the wave‑washed shallows. He lost no time in disembarking, either, jumping out of the little boat — it was the first pack canoe I’d ever seen — almost before it had come to a stop, then snatching up his gear in a single fluid motion. No problem there. Everything was in one sack. As I struggled to coax yet another small dry bag out of a lightless tunnel in the bowels of my kayak, I could feel my envy mounting.

In less time than it took me to wrench that single bag free, the solo traveler was ready to hit the trail, pack on back, little canoe slung over his shoulder. But he stopped to chat for a minute before loping away, and I learned he was bound for a lonely tarn nestled deep in the hills, at the end of a long chain of portages, ponds, and bushwhacks. He was a climber first and foremost. His canoe was simply a means to an end.

This encounter got me thinking, and two things followed in due course. One happened almost immediately: Both Farwell and I bought pack canoes. The second took a little longer to reach fruition, but it was worth the wait. The seed that ripened into the notion of “amphibious” adventures was planted in our minds. The idea is a simple one: An amphibious journey marries paddling with some other form of no‑octane travel. Mostly, I combine cycling and paddling, hauling a folding boat or inflatable in a small trailer behind my bike. In this way, the trip to the put‑in becomes a holiday in its own right. There are other benefits, too. Even when I ride my bike over roads that I’ve driven hundreds of times, I almost always see (or hear or smell) something new. These discoveries aren’t always pleasant, of course. Sometimes I notice a new clear‑cut that marks the location of another leisure‑home development, imperfectly concealed behind a narrow “beauty strip” of standing trees. And I’m always disheartened by the number and variety of road‑killed animals I see, each of them a victim of someone’s inattention, haste, or malice. But the pluses still outweigh the minuses. Every now and then I can rescue a hapless creature from sudden death or crippling injury, by the simple expedient of stopping and shooing it off the road. (Or, in the case of turtles becalmed in the middle of a busy highway, by picking them up bodily and carrying them to safety. If the turtle’s a big snapper, this is an adventure in itself.) I also get to thumb my nose at every gas station I pass, and that’s a very big plus, indeed.

The idea of amphibious adventures isn’t really new, of course. Farwell recently unearthed an article that appeared in The Wheelman magazine in 1883. It begins:

Happy is the man who rides his own wheel. Happy is the man who paddles and sails his own canoe. Thrice happy he who rides the merry wheel and steers the dancing, gliding canoe. I am now one of the thrice‑happy men.

Yes, the prose is a little on the purple side. In fact, it’s almost ultraviolet. But as one of those “thrice‑happy [wo]men” myself, I can attest that the writer’s boast rings true. And amphibious adventures aren’t limited to cycling and paddling. As our chance acquaintance in the pack canoe demonstrated, there’s no reason not to combine paddling with … er … pedestrian pleasures. There’s more than one way to be thrice‑happy, after all. Still, despite the obvious benefits — obvious to me, at any rate — I meet surprising few bipedal “amphibians” in my travels.

Which is why I was overjoyed when, not long ago, a friend told me he was thinking about taking a trip that combined paddling and hillwalking. He’s a keen walker, but he’s also an occasional canoeist, and he’s planning to use his canoe to take him into a remote range that he’s never visited before. He’ll paddle in, conceal his boat near a high mountain tarn, set up a base camp, and strike out for as many summits as he can fit into the time available. But because he’s more at home with a hiking staff in his hand than a paddle, he asked me if I had any advice for hillwalkers who are thinking about taking to the water…Read more…

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Hot enough for you? Now that midsummer’s day has come and gone, that’s an all too common question. But non-cyclists almost always express surprise when I tell them I’d rather ride my bike than sit on the porch. (The explanation? That’s easy. I make my own wind on a bike. The faster I go, the stronger the breeze.) Of course, you have to dress for success. Cool is my watchword on sultry summer days. DeFeet Armskins go a long way toward keeping me comfortable. So do my Lycra bike shorts, even though they’re black. Lycra doesn’t soak up sweat, and the porous, stretchy fabric lets the wind blow right through. But I don’t wear a Lycra top. I want something a little looser from the waist up. Luckily, summer jerseys that fit the bill aren’t hard to find. Here’s what I look for:

• • Bright color
• • Short, loose sleeves
• • Breathable, quick-drying fabric
• • Relaxed cut
• • Good ventilation
• • Quality workmanship
• • Reasonable price

Mostly, I shop the sales. And mostly, I do all right. But every now and then, I do better than that. This is one of those times. In fact, the Mt. Borah Micro jersey is the coolest jersey I’ve seen. Here it is:

Hi-viz yellow front and back, with black trim on the neck (the better to hide sweat-cemented road grime) and sides. Hi-viz may not win plaudits from the cycling fashionistas, but it’s cool where cool counts most—on the road and in the sun. Check out the rear view:

That’s enough to catch the eye of all but the doziest motorist. There are some nifty details, too. Instead of three small pockets—the usual complement in a cycling jersey—the Micro sports two LARGE ones. Three bidon-sized pockets may be just right for a hard-working domestique, but I’m not playing Ganymede to some peloton god. And I like living large on the road. The fabric is just right, too—a quick-drying polyester, porous without being peek-a-boo. Can you see my hand here?

Not very well, eh? But you can certainly see the myriads of passageways for cooling breezes. And the black side panels are made from a lighter weight fabric that’s even more porous:

Farwell favors neck-to-navel zippers, as do many other male cyclists, but most women will be happier with something a bit less…er…ostentatious. I find the Micro’s nine-incher plenty big enough. The jersey’s cut is relaxed, too, so it never clings to my sweaty skin. Yet it still doesn’t balloon out on fast descents. To cap things off, the workmanship is excellent, and the price was right. I bought my Mt. Borahs last summer. They’ve been through the wash at least a couple of dozen times now, but they’re still as bright as the day I pulled them out of the shipping carton. And I expect I’ll be wearing them for years to come.

Hot enough for you? Well, it’s plenty hot enough for me. But my Mt. Borah Micros is helping me keep my cool.

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What makes a great ride? Perfect weather, with a cool breeze that never hinders and sometimes helps. Beautiful scenery. Quiet roads with no wheel-destroying potholes or speeding cars. Singing birds. Flowing water. Shade and sun in equal measure.

I could lose myself in such a place forever.

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 Monday 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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