Friday, June 8, 2018

Cape To Kapp: Underdressed At the Circumcision Celebration

Teresie Hommersand grew up near Stavanger, a city known as the oil capital of Norway. She remembers eating supper every evening off plates with the logo of the national oil and gas company on them. Somehow she became the "green sheep" of the family. She has lived in Uganda, Oregon, and Australia. Learn more about her 13,700 km ride going from South Africa to Norway and her charity crowdfunding campaign on her Facebook page and Instagram.
(This is her sixth journal entry for us. She's in Egypt now, but this entry is from January)

This is the beauty of bicycle touring.
The openess. Randomness.
Discovery. Spontaneity.
And love, actually.



So Much Generosity
I was actually a bit sad when I cycled the last 10 kilometers in Tanzania on my Soma Saga, approaching the border to Kenya. I stopped a few times. Turned around and looked behind me. Being all melancholy as I was leaving behind me the heartfelt, warm encounters I've had over the last ten days. Every day. So much love. So much care. So much curiosity. So much generosity.

Another New Country! Kenya!
After the form filling, stamping, mandatory picture at the boarder with me and the bike, I did my first kilometers on Kenyan soil! On this first day, I ended up paying way too much for a soda at a gas station and seeing a huge dead hyena right next to the road, gaping at me, and a dog eating off its bum.
As it drew near sunset I felt a bit uneasy not having found a place to stay for the night. Maybe it was just because I was in a new country. My standard procedure at the end of a day of cycling is to just find some random people, strangers, and ask if I can pitch my tent in their compound. I've gotten quite good at it. 100% success rate! That might tell you more about the hospitality in the countries I'm cycling through rathet than me, necessarily. Or maybe both;-)

Party Invitation
My first night in Kenya I ended up spending with Jeremiah and Florence! I just met Jeremiah on the road and he took me through bushes and over hills to his traditional Masaai home! Forget about concrete and bricks. Cow dung and gras is the ting! Maybe it was the chai, the fire, the maharagwe, the questions whether I liked cow blood, capitalism vs communism, or wanting to join the village's celebration of a boy's circumcision and passing of his exam that made me stay the next day. As I was falling asleep in my tent, I could hear voices from the houses on the opposite hill where food for next day's celebration was being prepared.

New friends... Jeremiah and Florence

The women were still cooking when we all went to join the festivities around noon the next day! I've never seen such big pots, so much food, so many goats being slaughtered. Even though a cyclist is always hungry, I found myself having to say 'no thank you' to some of the food that was offered. I was stuffed! All around me were beautifully dressed women, in their characteristic traditional Masaai wear. I had been admiring their 'look' for days, seeing Masaai women walking next to the road north in Tanzania. Their necklaces, earrings and bracelets, colourful and shiny, made them visible from miles away in the otherwise brown and grey landscape. A beautiful sight.


The Holy Grail
I was so underdressed. Rose, Jeremiah's grandmother, asked if I didn't have anything else to change into. I tried to explain that I didn't have anything nice to wear as it's not part of 'bicycle touring essentials'. One does not want to carry anything that is not strictly necessary, keeping the weight of the panniers as light as possible. After some discussions with her friend, which I didn't understand a word of, Rose said 'Come with me'. Then the two grannies lent me a dress and necklaces they had made - admitting me into the holy grail of the Masaai. 
I was so happy and felt so included, especially after desperately wanting to take a picture of the ladies next to the road for days, but not being able to without having to pay a stiff price. Many have learned to make money off the interest in their culture. When we returned to the celebrations, everyone was saying 'Wow, you look so nice!'.
The rest of the day, we all sat in the shade, listening to the speeches and singing over the terrible loudspeakers. Topics of dancing and not do drugs. I ended up snoozing with my head on one of the women's lap. I registered someone else put a blanket on me. In the evening when we sat around the fire with the immediate family and I returned the necklaces, I felt that something was missing around my neck. I said I felt empty. Then, completely unexpected, Florence found one of her necklaces in the neighbouring room and just gave it to me! Something to remember her by. As if needed, but so much appreciated! Rose had already given me one of her bracelets that I treasured dearly. It's the act, not the items that are so special to me. What they represent. They asked me if I didn't want to stay another day.

Farewell
In the morning, after having been served one cup of chai after the other, we said our goodbyes. It was hard to hold the tears back. I couldn't. Who knew that me, Florence, Rose, even Jeremiah, would be all teary eyed, not wanting to say goodbye just 36 hours earlier? I left with so many good wishes!! I doubt I will ever see them again. I will however always, always remember them and feel so incredibly lucky and grateful for having met them. So much that I can't see what I'm typing anymore. This is the beauty of bicycle touring. The openess. Randomness. Discovery. Spontaneity. And love, actually.


x

Cape to Kapp: Rough roads and Lion Tracks in Tanzania

Teresie Hommersand grew up near Stavanger, a city known as the oil capital of Norway. She 
remembers eating supper every evening off plates with the logo of the national oil and gas company on them. Somehow she became the "green sheep" of the family. She has lived in Uganda, Oregon, and Australia. Learn more about her 13,700 km ride going from South Africa to Norway and her charity crowdfunding campaign on her Facebook page and Instagram.
(This is her fifth journal entry for us)


The route I end up taking across the continent on my Soma Saga is a result of the rough plan I made before I started cycling and information I gott along the way, often from random people I meet. Tanzania was meant to be one of two countries in Africa were I would just cycle through. There were no places that I wanted to explore that I had not been before. The plan was to take the shortest route to Nairobi. That would have been along one of the country's most heavily trafficked roads. There are no lack of fatal accidents here. Friends of mine have come across cyclists on this stretch that have been unlucky. I got word of another route, a route a bit further west. Apparently, the traffic was significantly less here and the scenery was stunning. BUT most of this stretch was not paved. After having done the first kilometer on this dirt road one late afternoon, I seriously wondered what in the world I had embarked on. Was it too late to turn around? That night, there was heavy thunder and lightning.



Adjustments and New Challenges
The following day can be summarised in the following words; gravel, sand, rocks, washboard, and bump after bump. My bike and panniers have never been shaken or rattled as much and on a couple of occasions, involuntary words and sounds escaped my mouth in pure frustration and anger. Yes, it is possible to get angry at a road. There was nothing to do but adjust my mindset! No way I was gonna be able to do 100km in a day. Maximum 50. After accepting that the next 400km were going to take me twice as much time and require double the amount of work (at least), I felt better. Besides, that evening I got other things to think about when my random host for the night told me that up ahead was a stretch with lions. How much fun! What is a bumpy road in light of this? That night, I was served ugali (East Africa's "potato" - a stiff maize flour dough) and buffalo meat! The buffalo was killed with a spear, I was told! A few days later when I camped in the compound of a park ranger that was part of an anti-poaching squad, I learned that that buffalo was most likely illegally hunted. Everyone, regardless of nationality, must have a permit to kill game in Tanzania. It is very interesting given that traditionally, many ethnic groups in Tanzania have made a living by hunting game, and some still depend on doing it today to make things go around. That evening I was also served a cup of cow milk-- as fresh as it gets-- straight from the cow. It warmed my hands when I wrapped them around the plastic cup.

 Breakfast! Chapati and chai. This lady gave me some extra maandazi (similiar to a donut, just not as sweet) for the road.


Lion Country
Over the next couple of days of cycling I tried to find out more about the 'lion situation'. I received so much conflicting information! Some looked appalled when I told them I considered cycling through this area alone while others said hakuna matata! No problem! 
When there is so much uncertainty, how can one make the right choice? Should I get an escort? Or just cycle? Jump on a bus even though I really want to cycle the whole day...? At one stage I cried with the thought of encountering a lion. It's a terrible feeling, being afraid to die. To be eaten by a lion.

When I reached where lion territory presumably started I was still not sure what to do. The plan was to make some final inquires in the last village that bordered this area. I cycled past a few houses. Thought this can't be the village, so I continued. Soon, it was just me and the red coloured dirt road again. Trees on both sides and silence. No people. And there... in the middle of the road I suddenly discovered lion tracks. As if a button had been pushed, my heart started racing. The adrenaline pumped through my body like there was no day tomorrow. All my senses were heightened, alert and ready. I got off the bike. I've been told to NEVER run from a lion. You must look her or him in the eyes, make yourself big (have I not mentioned that I'm quite small?), make loud sounds. Make the lion believe that you are bigger and stronger - even though fear is seaping out of your every pore. I could see that the tracks were not super fresh, but it doesn't matter. You are still terrified. TERRIFIED. I had my back against the bike, scanned the terrain. Every bush, every stump. Every rock. 360 degrees, non-stop, searching for a lion. I had my pepperspray hanging around my neck. My knife easily accessible. The DIY flamethrower in my hands - a tip from another cyclist. Lions are afraid of fire.

Who knows how long I stood like this. I didn't see a living creature. No cars or motorcycles that  I could cycle along with. I could not stand like this forever. 

What should I do? Cycle back to the houses I had passed? Keep on going to the next village?

 I ended up turning around. It was three kilometers of backtracking vs 13km to the next civilization. I felt a huge sense of relief when I spotted the houses again. I felt even better when I found a guy who was willing to come with me through 'the lion stretch'. He escorted me with his machete on his hip, a torch and umbrella on the back of his bike and complained that I cycled too fast. No lions. Only monkeys. Who knows, maybe it would have been fine without an escort? Perhaps I could have saved that expense? At the end of the day, it was actually really nice with some company.  
My escort thru lion country.


Welcome to Tanzania! Crossing the border.



Rhythm

Tanzania turned out very differently than planned. It was here I felt that I really got into the rhythm of bicycle touring, no doubt due to the route I ended up taking. The typical African dirt road. The colours. Thunder. Afternoon showers. The warmth and hospitality I was met with after a day's cycle. The best chai (tea). Chapati. Beans. All the rattling. The dust. The lions. The strive on the rough road. The tears. Perhaps all the hardships made the times were everything was flowing freely, the road was smooth (kind of) and fun to ride, the meetings with people were sincere and rewarding even better?
Nothing beats surfing on top of wet sand in the middle of the road, avoiding the streams of water on both sides right after a rain shower. The air and smells are so fresh! The sky so blue. Yellow butterflies fly infront of my wheel like dolphins swim and jump infront of moving boats. I'm smiling. Am happy. Free. Have a sence of achievement. Soon enough the heat will return and the tsetse flies will start biting again... so just enjoy;-)

Wednesday, April 25, 2018

Got A New Riff to Show You! ( And the B-Side Name is Retired)




We came up with the B-Side name mainly to help Kirk Pacenti create buzz for 650B as a new mountain bike tire standard. We weren't alone on using puns: Carver Bikes had the Killer B and Haro had the Beasely. But that was over 10 years ago and we feel the name doesn't suit the times anymore. Our main reasons for thinking this?

1) MTB tire makers in their wisdom have chosen to put "27.5" on their sidewalls-- instead of using the original name 650B.

2) On a 45 record, side A had the song you bought the record for. The B-Side usually had a weaker track no one cared about. But now the 27.5" tire size is a huge hit on its own. So it hardly fits the role of the other tire size no one cares about.

We are making some significant changes to the frame this year, so it is as good a time as any to work in a new name.

So we give you the Riff (another music-themed name, a practice we started back in 2001 with the Groove).

New Features:
  • IRD Broski sliding dropouts 
  • New sizing and longer geometry
  • 34.9mm seat tube to fit more models of dropper posts
  • Dropper post internal routing on seat tube
  • Paint: Pelham Blue, a classic color for electric guitars
What stays the same?
  • Still is a trail-oriented hardtail frame designed for 120mm (or 100mm) travel forks and 27.5" wheels
  • Fits 27.5" tires up to 2.8" without needing Boost parts 
  • Belt drive option available
  • Tange Prestige heat-treated CrMo steel tubing.
  • Can handle 1-1/8" steerers as well as tapered steerers by using different lower headset assemblies
  • Can take a front derailleur 

The Juice, our 29er hardtail, adopts the same new features and sizing scheme as well; however the Juice goes from SM to XL, while the Riff goes from XS to LG. Paint: Battleship Gray.
Geometry charts included below.

First production to arrive early June 2018.
Models will be added to the website next month









Wednesday, January 17, 2018

Cape To Kapp: Peculiarities

Teresie Hommersand grew up near Stavanger, a city known as the oil capital of Norway. She remembers eating supper every evening off plates with the logo of the national oil and gas company on them. Somehow she became the "green sheep" of the family. She has lived in Uganda, Oregon, and Australia. Learn more about her 13,700 km ride going from South Africa to Norway and her charity crowdfunding campaign on her Facebook page and Instagram.
(This is her fourth journal entry for us)


When traveling in a country different to one's own, certain things one come across might seem peculiar - to say the least. When cycling, because you meet people you most likely otherwise would not meet and travel on roads you otherwise would not find yourself on, one is likely to discover more things that make one scratch one's head, laugh out loud or get chills down the spine...

For instance, the other day a conversation topic turned to names. What do people call their kids in Malawi? I don't find strange names like Gift, Precious, Memory, Admire and the likes, but what I learned is that there's a new trend in what to name kids - namely after new technologies. 
Now, you have kids running around called Machine, Internet,  or Headset! My absolute favorite is Missed Call!! Although Call Me Back comes pretty close too!

Another thing that may to many seem weird or incomprehensible is the level of superstition that exists in some of these countries. I was reminded of it one late evening, sitting on a cement porch, 40km short of the border between Zambia and Malawi.
That afternoon I 'pulled in' at a Maize depot, asking if I could pitch my tent for the night. It was a first for the guys working there, but they said "Yes. Of course!" The security guard that was going to be there that night showed me where to erect my tent and invited me to join him for dinner. 
"No. Thank you." I said.  

He insisted, saying I should save my pasta and can of baked beans for the next day. Even though I really wanted my delicious carbs and protein (mmmm), there was something about this man that made me feel like I could not say no. So, when the sun had set and everything was covered by the dark, I found myself eating nshima and eggs (with a bit of a crunch) on his cement porch in the flickering candlelight. We talked about everything and anything. He told me I had just missed one of the biggest traditional celebrations in the country– a festival where people from all over– the president included– come to see... The Masked Men's Dance. 

"When they put on their masks," my host told me, "they take on a different persona. They become animals."

But this is not the only time these men wear masks he continued. They are part of a group, a group that recruits members in the rural villages. Boys between the age of 12 and 15. They are being taken away for months at a time, schooled in the rules of the group at a remote graveyard. Why? Because the kids that do not graduate end up six feet under. Here they are  introduced to black magic. Seeing men being cut 'bleed' honey and buzzing bees. Putting fellow aspiring graduates in a bag. Tying it and beating it with a stick until it's red. Opening the bag and seeing their friend jump out without a bruise. Certainly no blood. 



There are rules for which roads people are allowed to use. If they find someone on one of the roads that people are not suppose to be travelling on, they will take them  and make them part of the group - that is if you know you're not suppose to be travelling on this road. But what about if you don't know? Like me? When I'm cycling? My host said that these people are both good and bad. Good in the sense that they won't do anything to you, if you are not aware of being on the 'wrong' road. They will even help you along.

It's a secret group. No one is suppose to know who its members are. They do not address each other by name or refer to each other in a way that means that they know who the others are. And here I am sitting alone with this guy, whose telling me all this, only able to see the white in his eyes and his teeth in the weak light from the candle. Then he leans in,  looks me in the eyes  and says "I am one of them". I suspected it all along. There was something about him. 
'You're not suppose to tell meeee!' I jokingly exclaimed. 
Then he laughed and took it back, leaving a bit of uncertainty with regards to the truth... The next day, as I got back on my Soma Saga, he wished me a safe trip... Needless to say, I never saw him again, or any masked men...