“You get what you pay for.” Who hasn’t heard this? It’s certainly a frequent refrain on many cycling forums. But is it true? Is cheap stuff always trash? Are expensive things always high-quality? Well, I’ve certainly owned my share of overpriced, overhyped junk, so I’d already consider the second of these propositions convincingly refuted. But what about the first proposition? Do “cheap” and “good-quality” ever belong in the same sentence? In a word: yes.

And here’s a case in point: the Nashbar Townie pannier. Nashbar calls these “baskets” for some reason, but don’t let that fool you. They’re panniers. And at USD 20 each, you’ll seldom find a better bargain. I’ve used the same pair for eight years now. They’ve hauled groceries, camping gear, and books, not to mention the occasional bad-tempered snapping turtle—loads of up to 25 pounds per pannier, or 50 pounds per pair. Summer and winter. Rain or shine. Sleet or shower. They’ve even endured a couple of crash landings, when gusty crosswinds, loose gravel, or a twisting kickstand have brought me down with a bang.

And they’re still going strong. They show signs of wear, to be sure. The rain covers are holed in places. (From time to time I’ve had to lean my loaded bike against rough stone walls. Plus there’ve been those sliding falls. No matter. I patched the holes with rip-stop tape.) And three (of four) snap fasteners have rusted away, casualties of the salty slush of too many North Country winters. I could easily replace these snaps—and I will, sooner or later. But for now I get by with bulldog clips. They work surprisingly well.

Now here are a few candid snaps of the Townies out on the town:

The mounting system is as simple as it gets: a couple of vinyl-coated steel top hangers—the hangers have only just started to shed their vinyl overcoats, but scraps of old inner tube are standing by to step into the breach—and a bungee-and-hook. (There’s also a Velcro safety strap to keep the pannier on the rack if a harsh bump dislodges the lower hook. It hasn’t happened yet, but…) And the size? Just right for a standard brown paper grocery bag, though if you fill the bag right to the top, you won’t be able to get the pannier rain cover over the load, and I always use the rain covers, whether or not it’s raining. (The yellow rain covers are more likely to catch the eye of impatient motorists than the panniers’ black Cordura. And they keep road dust out of my groceries.) In any event, if you fill a grocery bag halfway and then fold the top over, it will fit perfectly.

A pannier will also hold two 5-liter wine boxes. I don’t recommend hauling two boxes in one pannier without a corresponding weight (approximately 25 pounds) in the other, however. An unbalanced load makes for uncertain handling. So maybe you’d better get four boxes.

There are other nice touches. Stiffeners in the Townie’s walls keep the panniers out of your spokes, and webbing loops make tolerable carry handles. (A hint: The panniers carry best if you place two together, back to back, and then grab both loops in one hand, though if you have four wine boxes you won’t want to carry them far.) There’s also a zip pocket in each pannier for the rain cover. And the panniers fold flat when not in use, minimizing drag.

Now here’s a look at my bulldog-clip “repair”:

The clips don’t get in the way when the pannier is folded, either:

Eight years. Say 24,000 miles. And still my Nashbar Townies keep on haulin’. Did I get what I paid for? I think so. Of course I could have paid three times as much. But I’m very happy I didn’t!

The bikes come out in summer. There’s nothing new about that. Streets that see little or no two-wheel traffic in snowy January now bustle with cyclists going about their business in the sunshine. It’s been that way for years. But there has a been a sea-change of sorts recently. I’m seeing more and more bikes built with something other than recreation in mind. Call them utility bikes, if you must, though that’s a rather lumpish adjective to describe these elegant machines. Here’s one that caught my eye on a recent trip into town for groceries:

The owner was also shopping for his supper, having first hobbled his bike with a cable lock through the rear triangle and wheel. (Not exactly a high-security option, I know, but bike theft is still relatively uncommon in my neck of the woods.) In any event, the machine warrants a closer look:

It’s a Fuji Crosstown 2.0, with factory-fitted adjustable stem, grip shifters, and straight bars. The geometry favors a relatively upright riding stance, but the generously padded saddle and suspension seatpost should do much to take the sting out of the inevitable potholes, and the suspension fork will do its bit, too. The rest of the components are similarly utilitarian: linear brakes, platform pedals, sealed hubs, and 36-spoke wheels, not to mention a kickstand and “DingDong bell”—the last being a legal requirement in New York. The fenders and rack are aftermarket add-ons, suggesting that the owner is serious about using his bike to get around. That said, I’d have fitted a more robust rack, myself, and I’ve have mounted the rear reflector on the rack, rather than the seatpost. But these are niggling details. The only omission of note is a rearview mirror. All in all, it’s a well-set-up, businesslike bike.

And that’s not all. When I got back home and googled the Crosstown 2.0 I learned that the suggested retail price (sans fender and rack) is just USD499. That makes the Fuji a bargain, to boot. Function and economy brought together in one elegant package. Isn’t that what utility is all about?

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A few weeks back I found the quarterly Campmor catalog in my mailbox, and I enjoyed thumbing through the pages as I ate lunch. I’m always favorably impressed by Campmor’s minimalist approach to marketing: newsprint pages, line illustrations, and not a single glossy portrait of an implausibly well‑groomed outdoorsperson to be seen anywhere. I was also impressed by the selection of tents on offer — 20 pages or more. We’ve come a long way from the day when GI shelter halves and elephantine umbrella tents designed for families of car campers were just about the only options.

Which is a very good thing. A tent is a home away from home, after all — a refuge in storms, a sanctuary during mass attacks by biting flies, even a guarantor of privacy in crowded campsites. So it’s not surprising that most paddlers own one or more tents. Usually more. And the most common reason for that is the difficulty of making a choice. Confronted with so many alternatives, it can be hard to decide which one is right for you. I’m not immune. Over the years I’ve acquired something like a dozen. All have served me well, though none was perfect for every clime and place. Living in the field for weeks at a time in a fixed survey camp is very different from high‑altitude mountaineering. Still, even when the intended use was well‑defined, the final choice was always difficult. Luckily, a systematic approach makes any task easier, and selecting a tent is no exception. Just begin at the beginning, with a clear‑headed understanding what’s most important…Read more…

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