What a Lightweight

How many pairs of pants is it decent to pack for 13 day bike trip?

13 would of course be ridiculous; far, far too heavy. So how about three?  Would two be pushing it? Is one pair just downright rude? Or how about going without and going commando?

I ask because every gram I resentfully stuff into my panniers will have to be hauled 1,000 miles by my sorry and wheezing carcass. This is no time for passengers; be it shoes or booze, jocks or socks.  Every item I pack has to earn its place.

How heavy !?
Three pairs of boxers....

Of course everyone has advised me to travel light. I do not need persuading. All cyclists are obsessional about saving weight and I am no exception. No bicycle or bike-part can be purchased without carefully checking what it weighs first.

For evidence, watch a cyclist with someone else’s bike. Their first reaction, almost Pavlovian in its predictability, is to pick it up. There is a ritual to be followed here;  one hand on the bars, one on the saddle, they will carefully lower and raise it a couple of times – without actually putting it down – like a pair of human scales, all the while pulling faces or murmuring appreciatively (if the owner is within ear shot). Secretly, if it weighs more than their bike, they allow themselves an inward smile of smug schadenfreude.  

I have taken part - in all seriousness – in quite detailed discussions about the relative merits of bike parts and their relationship to gravity, while sitting in a pub on my third pint and second packet of pork scratchings. The irony was, at the time, wasted on me.

Unfortunately, the lighter the part, the higher the price. The relationship is exponential. At the top end, savings of a few grams can cost a few hundred pounds.  Of course, it would be considerably cheaper if I simply went on a diet and lost a few pounds from around the waist, maybe shrunk down those moobs a bit rather than bankrupting myself chasing down carbon fibre or titanium parts on the internet. But that would require self-discipline and commitment. 

You can even buy lightweight inner tubes – the thickness of an extra strong condom. I know, because I’ve checked. (The inner tubes, not the condoms, obviously).

I once tried to buy a pair of wheels, enticingly marketed as ‘Mavic Helium’s. (See what the crafty French manufacturer was trying to do there – imply wheels of such lightness they were beyond the laws of physics). I made my enquiries over the phone, and was a tad disconcerted to be asked what I weighed. I lied of course.  “Sorry mate”, he said, “but weighing as much as you do (remember, I’d lied to the man) I wouldn’t buy a pair wheels as light as this…can’t guarantee they won’t collapse under you”. it was a crushing moment. I hung up before he tried to sell me a pair of oak cart wheels.

Anyway, ahead of my trip, I’ve once again been thinking hard how to save weight (other than by reducing my intake of curry and beer of course).  Touring bikes like mine are relatively heavy, so are full panniers and so am I. Put us all together and 1,000 mile could swiftly feel like 3,000.

So I started by dumping all the things I was thinking of taking into a pile on my bedroom floor. It looked a lot. Shove it in a suitcase and chuck that in the back of a car and you wouldn’t pause for a moment. But this is altogether different.

It was time to get ruthless.  

My shoes were the first casualties, for eight hours of each day they would sit lazily in the panniers contributing nothing to getting me to John O’Groats, they had to go. Flip flips would have to do. I appreciate that taking only flip-flops is a high-risk strategy. There’re rubbish in the cold and not great in the rain (of which much is promised, however many web-sites I consult). But  I reckoned that at least twice a day when I showered my feet would warm up – that would just have to do. And since I’m down to flip-flops, the casual socks could go too.  (Who says I don’t keep a sharp eye on fashion trends...?).

The two pairs of jeans I’d laid out now seemed profligate. On the subject of jeans, I’m assuming that I’m alone in sticking them on the kitchen scales? If so, take it from me that they are heaver on the scales than they feel on you. So, no jeans then, I’m just taking shorts. Shorts singular that is. Just the one pair. With no belt of course; a leather belt with a buckle tips the scales at 183 grams . String will have to do – it weighs next to nothing – and it’ll be hidden under my tee-shirt anyway.

When I say tee-shirt, I’m not just taking one; that would be ridiculous.

I’m taking two. It’s going to make the photographs of the two-week trip look fairly repetitive, but there you go.  

No coat or jacket of course. I’ve got a fleece (lightweight yet, take it from me, remarkably fashionable). But if it rains in the evening it won’t matter as I’ll be refuelling in the local hostelry anyway.

Washing kit is a problem; it’s inherently full of lotions, sprays, liquids and stuff that is too heavy when you have to pedal it up hills. The toothbrush is OK…..now I’ve sawn it in half.

Heavy Toothbrush

Light Toothbrush

I did contemplate throwing out the shaving foam and razor and arriving at John O’Groats looking like Catweasel, but in the end the prospect of two weeks of itching stubble under a helmet chinstrap was too much to contemplate. So the shaving tackle is coming. But even here, I’ve managed to make a saving.   

I’ve been helped by terrorism. (stay with me on this one). Now, while flying planes into buildings has generally buggered up life for everyone, it has meant that chemists now routinely stock tiny bottles of toiletries to ease your way through those enhanced airport security checks.

So I’ve not got a diddly little can of shaving foam so that the 500ml monster stay at home in the family bathroom cabinet. To maintain the good will of my cycling partner, Steve, I’ve grudgingly added a diminutive can of deodorant.

Before anyone is unkind enough to point it out, my haircut (a number 2 razor cut all over for those that don’t know me) means there is no need for combs, brushes or metro-sexual hair grooming products.  Talking of hair, I’m waiting until the day before I leave to get a final cut, no point in carrying any extra hair with me.  

Body wash is, as we all know, just shampoo and soap in one, so that’s a handy 50% reduction. Nails (toe and finger) have already been cut to the quick, so no scissors or nail clippers.

Contact lenses are a problem as I need to rinse them every day. But saline is heavy, so I’ve been experimenting, squirting saline into the lens case, filling it 13 times…hopeful that I can get away with one small bottle. I can’t. Damn.

Still, the toilet bag is a now a disposable sandwich bag, so a grams few clawed back there.

We are youth hostelling for quite a few nights and while dormitory living and sleeping as God intended might make for a memorable, if potent mix, I’ve concluded that basic decorum demands I have something to wear at night. So its pyjama trousers...with the legs cut off. Obviously.

But the pile of clutter on the bedroom floor was still disconcerting high. It was time to start cut back on the cycling kit.

Out went the all-weather gloves and the heavy duty rain jacket. And the spare cycling shorts. And the spare jersey. That looked better.

For everything else I’m working on the general principle of one on, one off.  So, two pairs of shorts… two short-sleeved jerseys (with the rather optimistic logo / boast, ‘Lands End to John O’Groat’s’ emblazoned on the back, something I worry I’ll come to regret). Two pairs of mitts (these are special cycling gloves with gel inserts on the palms so that at the end of the day grabbing hold of a rattling handlebar, it does feel like you’re been working on a pneumatic drill).

Predicting the weather on a 14 day trip is not easy. This is where arms warmers and leg warmers come in.

These allow you to wear a short sleeved jersey and shorts in fine weather, but if the weather turns nasty…you can pull out the arms and legs warmers…or knee warmers, stick them on and tah da – you’re warm (ish) again.

Let’s start with arm warmers. These are snug-fitting lycra tubes, usually in black. But you can go for white if you have a bold, ostentatious streak in you and tanned skin. Naturally, white is the preferred colour in Italy.

You simply pull them up your am, tuck them up under your jersey sleeve and away you go. If the sun comes out, you roll them off, and stuff them into the back pockets of your jersey. The more skilled can do this on a moving bike, but this requires riding hands-free and the margin for error here is small and the price of failure high, especially when riding in a group. Falling off with your hands trapped inside lycra tubes and unable to grab the bars earns light hearted derision and heavy abrasions.

Leg warmers and knee warmers (take your choice depending on your default level of optimism / pessimism) follow the same principle. Leg warmers do require some rather unflattering pulling to get them into place, almost Nora Batty-like contortions.

And that is pretty much it....not a lot of slack I grant you....it’s not much more than travelling with my pockets full.

BTW - If you’re still wondering about the boxer short teaser I opened up with, I eventually opted for three pairs. For everyone’s sake, let just hope there are plenty of washing machines on the road north.

(If you've enojyed this or other blog entires, I'd be delighted if you could sponsor me at Just Giving - Mick Slatter, to help me raise money for physically and mentally disabled children in Mid-Sussex).