Of the many things to admire about the Trangia stove, I have a clear favorite. The stove is a reliable soldier, and it’s admirable qualities are perfectly harmonious with trips afield. It is durable, simply made, simple to operate, relatively light, uses easily obtained fuel, and is silent in use. There is, however, a slight whisper of a sound when it is ignited. It is a sound that might be missed in urban settings. But in the kind of quiet places that outdoor enthusiasts seek, the gentle kiss of flame with fuel vapor makes a “wumpht” that sounds happy and eager for the work ahead. It delights me without fail.
I suppose that the superior elegance of bicycle transportation is nowhere more clearly understood than while riding in the city. That is the environment that allows so many comparisons with other means of transport. It is true that, on my rural rides, I sometimes feel like a clipper ship sailing through waves of prairie grass. But mostly I’m isolated in my movement. The cows stand there chewing, and I sail by. There is an elegance of flow across the empty rolling landscape, but no basis for comparison.
Compared to automobiles, pedestrians, trains, and buses, the elegance of the bicycle glows like the the warm light of a well-established campfire on a crisp fall evening. Trains and buses require the traveler to adjust to rigid, established routes and schedules. Traveling by car requires the traveler to spend great gobs of time queuing at all manner of traffic controllers, for the number of cars is staggering and they consume so much space. Then, there is even more cumbersomeness. The car must be stored someplace not proximal to the start or destination. The pedestrian fares better than these constricted and constrained noise-making contraptions, but he moves so slowly. He must bear the entire burden of his daily appurtenances. He transfers his weight from one foot to the other in a long series of hammer jolts. All these, from the saddle of a bicycle, seem utterly barbaric.
I notice all these things while riding through the city. The advantages of my mode of travel stand out in stark contrast to my fellow travelers. My wheels roll smoothly on a route that I choose. In the numerous bike lanes, I roll past so many stopped cars directly up to the intersection at traffic lights. My bicycle carries my load, and simply glides through the city silently, smoothly, and swiftly. The bicycle shines as the elegant aristocracy of transportation like the moon outshines the stars.
So that was the end of the GAP Tour.
Which means I was ready to get back with Titus for some “grandson squeeze” time.