Porcelain Rocket: the making of a framebag
January 7, 2012
Somewhat at odds with my original plans, I now find myself in Victoria, the capital city of British Colombia that’s situated, a little confusingly, on Vancouver Island – not to be mistaken with nearby Vancouver, which isn’t…
What, back in Canada?
Er, yep. For now.
There’s a reason for my about turn, and it’s that I’ve decided to prolong my stay in North America. But for this, I’ll need to renew my US visa. In my usual style, this was a last minute decision, so with only a few days left before it expired, a helping hand was required to cover the 900 mile, triple-state traverse to the Canadian border. Enter the virtual bulletin board of Craigslist, where 75 bucks in gas money earned me a rideshare all the way to Port Angeles, a lonely harbour set dramatically at the foot of the Olympic Mountains. From there, it was just a short hop across the Salish Sea, from Washington’s Olympic peninsula to British Colombia, on a ferry that neatly depositing me in downtown Victoria.
From past experience, it seems that unusual company is all but guaranteed when ridesharing: on this occasion, the 20 hour road trip was shared with a chainsmoking student of Tibetan Buddhism, a girl with green hair, a Deadhead and, of course, my dismembered bicycle squeezed into the trunk of the Audi wagon. The journey itself proved interminably long but largely uneventful, most likely because it involved four wheels and a motor, rather than two and a pair of legs.
Still, making such an odyssey north did have other benefits. For one, it introduced me to the Pacific North West – a land of ancient, towering redwoods, giant ferns, moss-draped rainforests and, being the middle of winter, permadrizzle. It’s also given me the chance connect again with Scott and Naomi, who have moved to Victoria since I last stayed with them in Banff – back when they replenished me with food in readiness for the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route, over two years ago.
During this time, Scott has begun a new business: Porcelain Rocket, fabricators of custom bicycle framebags. Just to recap, stowing gear within the frame of a bicycle makes great use of space and centers weight, allowing for a lighter, rack and pannier-less setup and more technical riding prowess. With the advent of this style of kit available commercially, dirt road touring, or bikepacking, as it’s becoming known, has been flourishing.
In fact, Scott’s distinctive rocket patches have festooned my muddy gear over the last 18 months, as he’s been kind enough to send me various prototypes to use and abuse. Which, in turn, has introduced me to a new world of more remote and challenging mountain bike travels.
While I’ve been out riding, Scott’s been honing his sewing skills… And he’s got pretty good…
Welcome to Porcelain Rocket, aka the Cave. A trained ceramic artist, and something of a rocket when out on his bicycle, Scott's unusual but aptly-named business has quietly grown within the bowels of a ramshackle Art Deco home, which itself is in midst of DIY upheaval.
The first step to building a framebag is to draw out a pattern of the bicycle frame in question, marking on details such as water bottle mounts and cable bosses. Inevitably each pattern is different, depending on the bicycle manufacturer, the frame's size, and the material it's made from.
The pattern is then cut out and laid over the fabric, its tracing forming the main panels of the framebag.
Depending on intended use and aesthetic whims, there are various fabrics and colours to choose from, from the burliest of Corduras for expedition riding to lightest of modern packclothes for ultra endurance racing.
Snip snip snip. Steadier hands than mine.
Just in case I might have had aspirations to rustle up my own framebag, I was told in no uncertain words that each pair of scissors has its own purpose. Of the four, these are the fabric shears. Woe betide anyone who confuses them with the snippers for cutting plastic.
Work begins by lamplight...
Scott's machines are all second hand - this one is an old straight stitcher from the '70s. His bartacker came out of the Dallas Cowboy's uniform shop - unfortunately not the Cheerleaders'.
Vrroooom, vrooom...
Time for some zips. These fellas are known as 'Number 10s', and they're the big daddies of the zip world.
One side completed. This one has a dual compartment and is built with extra tough fabric.
Each panel is lined with a piece of foam, to help provide structure and protect innards. Although these black and white shots don't show it, this particular liner is actually a tasteful shade of Hot Pink...
Take 5. Kaboom calls for a break.
Then it's back to the sewing machine to work on the other side, which features a shallow map sleeve and a see-through storage compartment.
This done, the spine of the bag is then traced out onto a ballistics fabric, chosen for its high abrasion resistance.
Velcro strips are sewn in, to secure the bag in place within the frame.
Each one is carefully positioned to avoid cable bosses and stops, which have been marked out by the frame's pattern.
Back to the machine once more...
Sewing in the main construction stitch - suddenly, it's starting to take shape.
Corner and intricate stitches require working the machine manually.
The framebag's still inside out, but almost there. Note the massive, padded flair at the front for extra storage capacity.
Excess fabric falls to the ground as the bag is trimmed, and then finished with seam ribbon.
And last but not least, the moment of truth: the 'rabbit out of the hat trick'. Scott grapples with the framebag to turn it the right way round.
Framepack builder cradles finished product. Job done.
A final splash of colour... The proof, as they say, is in the pudding. It's a perfect fit!
Notes:
For more details on Scott’s fantastic work, check out Porcelain Rocket and his Flickr page.
The images were taken using a Micro Four Thirds Lumix GH2, with 28 and 40mm pancake primes, at 800-1600 ISO. Scott’s little sweatshop is all but devoid of light, especially away from the work lamps, so I processed the images into black and light using Lightroom.
Pedal Damn it: bikepacking in the Purbeck
September 1, 2011
As much as I love to travel the world, there are few places as beautiful as the English countryside on a fine summer’s day, and few spots as perfect as the Dorset coastline when the sun is glinting out to sea.
Since my lung operation, I’ve been impatiently counting down days before I felt ready to bike, and eventually travel again. South America already seems a distant land, but I’m determined not to let my plans to return there slip away.
I’m feeling better day by day. Sleeping on a Thermarest is still a little awkward, and hysterical laughter reduces me to yelps of pain… With the stitches healing up nicely, I figured I’d ease my way back into the saddle with a bikepacking trip to the Purbeck Hills, using my parents home in Dorset as a base. This is where my love of mountain biking was born, so it seemed a fitting place to return to. What’s more, it would also provide the quintessential English experience for Nancy, visiting from the US.
Situated on the south west coast, the Isle of Purbeck has long been one of my favourite stomping grounds. While the mountain biking may not be technical, it’s sure to work the lungs. And considering its diminutive size, this little parcel of land really packs in the big views.
Despite its name, Isle of Purbeck is actually a peninsula. It often feels like an island though, with its seascape vistas in almost every direction. This view is looking back towards Poole's vast natural harbour, second only to Sydney in size. (photo Nancy Crowell)
Long, steep and sometimes rocky climbs are rewarded by meandering, ridgetop rambles.
From up high, mellow views are the order of the day. The Purbeck is a land of gently rolling, almost manicured hills. Its sheep-nibbled and cow-munched pastures seem freshly mown.
Big sunset skies...
...encourage late afternoon rides.
There are campsites, often in simple fields, dotted all across the peninsula. Nancy and I preferred to stealth camp up on Swyre Head, the highest point of the Purbeck Hills, affording views out to the Isle of Wight.
First though, Frisbee Action. As it happens, this frisbee just squeezes into my Camelbak, with the added bonus that it doubles as a plate come dinner.
Then the cooking began, as the last, golden beams of the summer's afternoon clipped the hill tops.
I love a kitchen with some space and a decent view.
Fresh carrots and spring onions came courtesy of my parent's garden, cooked up on the Mini Trangia. To these we added diced ginger, red lentils and couscous, a wholesome concoction that more than satisfied our grumbling bellies.
Along with a handfull of sweet and tasty figs, also homegrown.
Our view, looking out towards Clavell Tower at Kimmeridge, as we dined.
More ridgetop cruising in the morning.
Attack of the Cows: Purbeck's lawn mowers take a break from maintaining the perfectly manicured landspcape to stampede us. (photo Nancy Crowell)
Trailside poppies.
Trailside nap.
The Purbeck is famed for its Jurassic Coastline, its rocks embedded with dinosaur footprints. This is the view below Worth Matravers, just a short walk away from the fabled Square and Compass pub, home to cider and pasties.
A geographer's paradise: the limestone arch and pebble beach of Durdle Door. Here, we leapt into the sea and braved frigid waters for an invigorating swim.
The crumbling remains of Corfe Castle, poking out above the common. The site dates back to the 11th Century. (photo Nancy Crowell)
Bike Club: the telltale marks of battles with oily chainrings.
My rig. I'm still honing my ultimate bikepacking setup, based around a Surly Troll, clad in Porcelain Rocket clothing.
A key ingredient is this PR expandable seat pack - or Booster Rocket, as it's called. It's effectively the modern day version of a Carradice saddlebag, and gulps down a 3/4 Thermarest, Tyvek groundsheet, Black Diamond Megalight tarp and a change of clothes, with room still for a pair of Crocs bungeed below.
The Top Tube Pack fits snacks, a knife, headtorch and a rear LED. Mine has been coolified with a patch from local bikeshop Charlie the Bikemonger.
In my pursuit to carry ever more H20, I'm trying a King Cage adaptor. It replaces the top cap bolt on the stem to provide a mount for another water bottle cage.
Nancy rode this Thorn Catalyst, to which we fitted a Trek rack, integrated rackop bag, a mini Top Tube Snack Pack and an Ortlieb bar bag. No problems there, until we noticed, some miles later, that the bag had been unceremoniously ejected from the bike on a rough descent. Luckily, a kindly rambler picked it up and dropped it off at Swange Police Station.
The Refuel. No visit to the seaside is complete without a portion of hand cut, greasy chips at the local chippy...
Purbeck Tips
Wareham has a train station for car-free travel. Check out the health food store there, Purbeck Wholefoods, for loading up with supplies. Their muesli is delicious, as are their yoghurt coated flapjacks.
For wholesome, locally sourced grub, there’s the Salt Pig, also in Wareham. Free wifi access too.
There’s a bike shop at the train station for all your basic needs, and another in Swanage, by the name of Charlie the Bikemonger: ’purveyor of damned fine 29er, singlespeed and fixed produce’.
Timewarp. Great fish and chips are to be enjoyed amongst the squarking seagulls and squabbling kids in Swanage.
For the full Purbeck experience, sip a pint of cider and a tuck into a pasty at the Square and Compass, Worth Matravers.
Camera Talk
These photos were taken with a Panasonic GH2, using Lumix 14mm (28mm), 20mm (40mm) and 45-200mm (90-400mm) lenses.
This is a bit different: Bikepacking in Devon
August 4, 2011
I’m not planning on posting much in the way of non-Latin American content during this hiatus at home. But there’s no denying the riding in the UK can be lovely too, and even if time is short, there are still many inspiring adventures are to be had. So with this in mind, here’s just a few pictures from last weekend’s journey, a lightweight tour of the Devon Coast to Coast, via public bridleways and quiet backroads. You can see a full set of photos on my flickr page, taken with a Panasonic GH2 Micro 4/3 camera, in keeping with the lightweight nature of the ride.
This 175km ride, with 4500m of climbing, links the two Devon coasts, broken up with two nights tarping/bivying in the remote and rugged Dartmoor and Exmoor National Parks. It was put together based on the Rough Ride Guide, mingled with Chris’s knowledge of Dartmoor and Howard’s insights into Exmoor.
Jargon
Although nothing new as a concept, the term ‘bikepacking’ seems to have been coined relatively recently for lightweight, multi-day mountain bike trips. Minimal. Uncomplicated. Carrying only enough kit as you need. Travelling light enough to ride all but the most challenging trails.
Rare blue skies and nary a hint of mist on Dartmoor. This swathe of moorland and tors -exposed granite hilltops - is situated in South West England, and famous for its navigational challenges.
A long way to go if you run out of tea...
The UK is blessed with public access trails that streak across the lands like a network of veins. Our pace was dictated by the gates to be opened and shut as we worked our way through the park. Each had its own character, some borrowing great lumps of Bronze Age granite to prop them up.
Our first night under the stars was spent just out of the settlement of Princetown, home to Her Majesty's infamously bleak Dartmoor Prison, a foreboding granite fortress built to hold prisoners during the Napoleonic War.
My companion for the ride, Chris, strategically bivying by a cow pat, while I kipped out in a Black Diamond tarp.
7.30am. Sweet singletrack down mist-shrouded Cobweb Alley. These precious moments encapsulate the essence of bikepacking.
According to Chris, dry conditions demoted this stepping stone crossing to a mere 'Level 1'. Wet moss and cycling cleats elevate it to a whole different ball game.
The Troll in bikepacking mode. Nothing more than a tarp, sleep mat, sleeping bag, potset, food, snacks and tools... Life simplified. Over the last couple of years, I've come to realise that this is the kind of touring I enjoy the most: the liberation that comes from roaming on a bicycle that's light enough to be hiked when it can't be ridden. With all my possessions, it's rare that I can travel this light - sometimes even four panniers feels like too much clutter. Click on the pic for pop-up annotations of my framebag setup. Of course, you could just stuff everything into a rucksack, but I prefer not to carry too much on my bike. Likewise, panniers are an option, but less fun when mountain biking.
Lots of local produce on offer to tempt us away from the trail. A change from the papayas and mangos of the Equator...
Some trail maintenance needed...
I'd lucked out my first time mountain biking in Dartmoor - conditions were perfect. Come rain, and these grassy chutes are real energy sappers.
Not quite the work of Incas, but impressive walls none the less.
These traditional dry stone boundaries snake their way across the park, keeping livestock where they should be, and are an integral part of the area's cultural heritage.
A beautiful mossy, stony chute in Exmoor National Park. As the least visited national park in the UK, we had most trails to ourselves.
Tarr Steps, a 55ft medieval stone clapper bridge over the River Barle.
Working our way up to Dunkery Beacon, perched at a distinctly un-Andean 414m in altitude. Our route took us through Exford, where we stopped for (fresh) scrambled eggs and (fresh) bacon chez Howard, Nick and their mini farm.
Howard deals in recycled timber. This is his Unimog. A Surly Pugsley would doubtlessly look good leaning up beside it.
The Yellow Box, programmed expertly by Chris, had done a good job of telling us exactly where to go, backed up with old fashioned Ordnance Survey maps. I really need to hone my GPS skills, as there's no doubt that for a ride like this, they really help to keep the flow going.
Almost there... One last climb and a ridge ride lay ahead, before an epic whirligig descent down to the waters of Minehead.
The End, fittingly within eyesight of the fabled Butlins eyesore, one of a chain of British holiday camps founded by a certain Billy Butlin in 1936.
Captain Slow. From here, we rested sore limbs on the steam train back to Taunton, before heading home...
Kit List:
Black Diamond Megalite Tarp (Chris used his Alpkit Hunka bivy bag)
OMM Minimus sleeping bag
Piece of Tyvek for a groundsheet
3/4 length Thermarest
Headtorch
Riding kit
Change of clothes – cotton T shirt/lighweight shorts/socks
Waterproofs
Ground Effect Robin Hood long sleeve merino top
MSR Pocket Rocket
Alpkit Mytimug
A couple of days of breakfast
Spoon (bought for 35p as I forgot mine)
Trail mix, some dehydrated food and various snacks
Multitool, piece of chain, puncture repair kit, inner tube, pump, shock pump
Ipod
Micro 4/3rds camera, 16GB card, a couple of lenses and a spare battery
Everything fitted on the bike, but I brought a small Camelbak too in case I needed extra water or food. We mainly survived on pasties, flapjacks and bowls of £2 chips.
Logistics:
We drove to Taunton and caught an afternoon train to Plymouth – book the bikes as it’s only two per train. We were on the road by 4pm, putting in 40kms or so the first day, to camp just beyond Princetown in Dartmoor National Park. Day two began with offroad riding, then a long and sometimes hilly road link – some 50kms in length – to Exmoor. We clocked up about 100km that day, camping in Exmoor National Park. This gave us plenty of time the last day to meander our way to Minehead (via great trails and indulgent tea houses), picking up the last steam train (5.55pm) to Bishops Lydeard, a short bike ride away from Taunton, where we’d left the car. Having more of the day to ride on Friday would have meant a shorter second day.
There are plenty of spots to resupply on the way, and no shortage of pubs. Chagwell probably has the best on offer.
Wild camping in the parks is easy. Alternatively, there’s a bunk house in Princetown, or if you could push on a bit to the youth hostel in the beautiful forest glade of Bellever, which would set you up well for the one in Exford the next day.
