Forty kilometres for a loaf
The bakery in the next valley fires its oven on Saturdays only. I rode over the ridge with an empty saddlebag and came back with two loaves of the dark rye, one of which did not survive the descent. It was worth every metre of the climb.
We bake until the wood is gone, the baker said, and then we go home.
What I carried
Less than usual, and I still had too much.
- One spare tube and the small pump.
- A cotton bag, because paper tears on the cobbles.
- Coins. The bakery has never seen a card.
The gearing, for those who ask
I keep the ratios in a text file and print the table with gears --wheel 700c; the lowest is lower than I like to admit.
4 Jun 05