One of the nicest things about my job is that I get to hear about other peoples' touring adventures. One of the worst things about my job is that I get to hear about other peoples' touring adventures. Not because they aren't interesting—they are, always, and there's often some bit of useful advice that can be passed on to a future velo-nomade. It's just that the enjoyment is tempered with . . . something. Envy, I suppose. I can't help feeling like the house cat who looks outside and sees the free-range neighbor cat out roaming the streets, stalking squirrels and sleeping in the sun.

(As an aside: if you ever thought of your family as an impediment to bike adventures, you could use the Byers family as an inspiration.)

Something that's definitely on the positive side of the ledger is having an opportunity to see a bike tour from the beginning as well as at the end. Discourses on packing philosophies, route selection and the obsessive winnowing of gear turn to war stories about what went right, what went wrong, and other dualities: hot/cold, fast/slow, friendly/unfriendly . . . and every experience is different.

We had a few notable arrivals and departures this summer: 

Before I took this picture, the last time I had seen these bars (attached to a Bacchetta Corsa, btw) was a month or two before, when we'd wrapped them in yellow tape. Bright yellow tape. Imagine Alberto Contador, slightly jaundiced, standing on the surface of the sun. Bright. Anyway, in the meantime, Fred, the bike's owner, had bleached them to the pictured patchy off-white color on his coast-to-coast ride. Fred's chain maintenance regimen was so good that he made the trip with his original chain. Bravo, Fred.

Leaving around the time Fred was arriving were Richard and Heba, who are blogging their truly epic trans-European trip here. They are riding S-&-S-coupled Surly Long Haul Truckers, scored from TTR along with a panoply of Ortlieb gear and touring sundries. They have an ambitious trip planned, but since they are coming off a long stretch of challenging (not to mention admirable) work in difficult circumstances—development work & journalism in Sudan—I wouldn't think the road would throw anything at them that they couldn't handle. Unfortunately, viruses are tougher than bad roads, broken spokes, and cold showers. They've had a skein of bad luck, which I hope is over now. They're great folks and I wish them the best in their wanderings, by bike and otherwise. In this case, being the house cat doesn't seem so bad. Best of luck to you guys . . .  and to everybody else eating road dust right now.