Since you're on a computer reading about bikes rather than riding a bike, here is a little story from some guys who are riding their bikes from Alaska to the tip of South America. Sure, this has been done before, but these guys are doing it off-road. This was written by Sean Monterastelli, who is real world testing one of our prototype Big Dummy frames and is currently in Panama. Enjoy.


A Dummy Abroad


It is not always easy having Surly’s Big Dummy for a touring companion. While touring through Guatemala I became afflicted. It was nearly impossible for me not to show off this cargo bike that can carry more than your standard pack animal, doesn’t whine and beg for hay, and has more sexy curves in its frame then your most food deprived lingerie model. Take for example the daily routine of hauling leña (firewood) several miles from the timberline back down to the village. All along dirt roads, highways, or narrow footpaths, strut old men, women, and children hauling burdens that would crush a gringo’s spine like elote into corn meal. Somehow they keep their backs straight and stiff as ramrods, and their burly calf muscles (like knotted tree roots) would put even the most accomplished recreational mountaineer to shame. Without a hint of pain or exhaustion, they handle their business. And yet as I coast along on my extra-long bike, I can’t help but think, ‘hey, I’ve got plenty of room to accommodate those heavy loads, maybe the locals could use a break’.

So one day, upon encountering a man who was significantly dwarfed by his own timber pile (held onto his back with nothing more than a forehead strap), I asked if he’d like a little relief. His eyes immediately brightened at the sound of such an idea, and, slowly bending knees into a squat, he lowered his pile of leña to the ground. His movements were as smooth as a well-oiled hydraulic lift, and I felt embarrassed that my offer could have been construed to imply a certain pity, or god forbid, a disparagement to his enduring backbone. After I had offered him water from my dromedary bag, he informed me that a ride into town would be much appreciated but that he couldn’t possibly leave his son behind. Indeed his adolescent son was already scampering down the steep hill, his own miniature bundle of leña secured with a strap around his shoulders.

“Well…” I began, working out in my head the best way to accommodate the both of them. “It’s fine. We’ll just put one bundle in the very back behind your seat, and the smaller one I can secure with my knees up front, and your son can ride on the handle-bars.”

Yet, in the process of saying this, I caught sight of an older woman following a few feet behind the boy. The man did not say anything (he didn’t have to) he simply pursed his lips to ‘mouth point’ (a mode of communication for which Guatemaltecos are notorious) in the direction of the lady, effectively saying: ‘oh and her too’.

I shook my head, not ready to give up on such a stimulating challenge. Having before witnessed a whole family transported down the road on bicycles half the size of mine, I realized that the solution would come in terms of vertical accumulation; stack one thing on top of the other. An endearing virtue of the Dummy is its vast surface area. It stands slightly longer than a regular mountain bike with an xtracycle attachment and has burly seat stays that run at a nice gradual angle conducive to mounting heavy artillery (or in my case a five gallon bag of water). With all this luxurious and reinforced space, the one thing I never feel is hesitation in increasing the load or company.

I tried explaining to the man that, “if we just strap down all the wood on the deck, they can then ride on-top of the piles…” But then a flock of chickens emerge from behind the wife. Returning my quizzical glance with a slightly bashful nod along with a micro-mouth point, he confirms that these too need to be factored into the solution.

I started to panic; “Eh, horizontal accumulation? I don’t have a ‘Side Loader’ but maybe cut some sticks and build an outward rack…” The man understood at this point that I was thinking too much and overcomplicating a simple task.
“We’ll walk, my friend.” He says, patting my shoulder in sympathy. “It’s a nice day… no rain… we’ll walk.”

Disinclined to admit defeat, I feel compelled at this point to relinquish my beloved Big Dummy to the more deserving party. Surely with the babbling gringo out of the way these people could proceed to really exploit the endless possibilities of this steel beast of burden.

My desire to demonstrate the utility of the extra-long bicycle originated from my hearing about the Mayapedal project. Since 1997 the Guatemaltecos at Mayapedal have been coming up with simple bike related solutions to improving efficiency of work in self-sustained communities. They are innovators in creating time and energy saving devices out of recycled bike parts. Their inventions include: a mill, water pump, coffee bean de-pulper, washing machine, and metal sharpener (all pedal-powered). In such a land, where the quality of life can be so greatly improved by bicycle technology, Surly Big Dummy touring companion feels right at home.

As the father once more picked up the load, his young son tapped the snap deck to the Dummy and called out: “Un colossal por favor” (a ride please)”. I smiled thinking that the boy’s gesture would encourage the rest of the family to try out the Big Dummy, but the mother’s face suddenly looked worrisome. Perhaps she was suspecting me of being a kidnapper and believed my bike to be specially designed to whisk away her children to an underground adoption agency. Child abduction being a common enough occurrence in rural Guatemala, the fears of this mother were apt enough to warrant my growing sense of foreboding. I was now hoping that any misunderstanding could be remedied without the involvement of a machete wielding lynch mob.

Luckily the father appeared to be confident in my good intentions. After a quick exchange of body language, during which the lip-pointing technique was employed several times to reference me, the wife was reassured. The small boy was then able to ride a few kilometers down the road to the next pueblo. I went slow, and made frequent circle in the road to ensure that the boy never left sight of his mother. I think, that had they had been traveling further; each member of the family could have been convinced to take a turn on the Dummy. The solution to my previous problem of accommodating so vast a company was not in vertical or horizontal accumulation, but in gradually de-mystifying the strange new tool to those unfamiliar with its utility.

This description of the Dummy abroad is by no means meant to detract from its inherent value back in the states, or for that matter, any environment worldwide. It is rather to show, by example, how much fun can be had in absence of machines and petroleum –a purity of environment which is often difficult to imagine, let alone find, back in the states. Furthermore, the structure of the Dummy has something that other cargo carrying bike systems lack. Being a burly one-piece frame, it will remain solid and reliable throughout all the adventures of your wild years.

So far, my Big Dummy has endured seven months of off-road bike touring (from Michoacán, Mexico, to Bocas del Toro, Panama). I have taken it (loaded with sixty to seventy pounds of gear) down steep canyon trails, dragged it over jagged rocks during nightmarish hike-a-bike sections, and ridden it down the slopes of Volcán Tajumulco (the highest point in Central America). And yet, despite all its virtues as a calloused touring machine, I am most impressed with its sensitive side; its ability to make me friends.

Since I am a full time biker, I encounter people on a daily basis who inevitably initiate a conversation with; ‘that’s a real interesting bike you’ve got there’. Having began my current bike tour nearly two years ago in Prudhoe bay, I was initially riding with an xtracycle hooked up to a regular mountain bike. That setup certainly got its share of attention; however, it’s most memorable admirers were the score of welders that were required to mend the cracks and fractures that emerged from daily off-road abuse. Starting in Canada (in the towns of Banff and Elko, then continuing down the continental divide (in Pinedale, Wyoming; Grand Junction, Colorado; Monticello, Utah; and finally in Flagstaff, Arizona) the Riding the Spine crew and I have had to elicit the services of local welders to fix and reinforce our xtracycles. All the people who’ve helped us did so enthusiastically requiring no more payment than a case of beer. Most were such characters unto themselves that it would have been a shame not to have met them (this holds true with exception to Monticello, where a shop mechanic blew huge holes into my frame, performed the ugliest patch job imaginable and still had the nerve to charge me thirty bucks for his services).

Ever since taking over my tour on the Big Dummy, I have had no need visit welders. I have been able to carry whatever I want on whatever road or lack of road that suits my fancy without having to worry about equipment failure. I can give unlimited rides to a whole village of Guatemaltecos down steep cobblestone roads or carry two keggers to a party in the middle of a cloud forest. No matter how heavy my load may be, I feel confident that I’ll still always have room to pick up a hitch-hiker along the way. In other words, the dependability of the Big Dummy has allowed my imagination to run free.