The baldie is fled, long live the baldie!

The business (basically a CRM database) passed into better hands in 2012. These materials remain here for cannibalisation and amusement.

The baldie meanwhile has found pastures new: as a singing organ-grinder for your event in the UK, France, Belgium, the Netherlands or Spain!

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- in 4 hours without feeling like a stupid tourist.

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Why FollowTheBaldie?
- Language All our guides are native English speakers and speak the local language fluently.
- Knowledge Our local and subject knowledge is profound and up-to-date.
- Interactivity See someone interesting? We'll interpret. Tired/full of energy? We can adapt the programme.
- Individuality We don't do herd tourism. No silly flags. No headsets.
- Responsibility Unlike most "green" tour businesses, we only use public transport--cheaper and generally more interesting.

21 today-ish

A quick pannieregyric to my Agu Sport Quorum canvas udders.

Posted by admin on Tuesday August 7th 2012. Comment now

Puerto de la Cubilla, León/Asturias, after dirt path climb ex San Emiliano. All photos © Mr Baldie. More.

I'm cycling a couple of thou in France this summer, so it's kind of cool that I've still got the same pair of bags on my bike as on my first mission to the Gauls in 1991. That was also my first lengthy cycling trip, and I did just about everything wrong.

The Oldenzaal-Gent leg was fine, but my 3-speed juggernaut was grossly overloaded with useless crap - tent, cooker, maps - and several vats of kriek lambiek during an evening of Flemish music-making left me struggling.

I then made the somewhat unfortunate error of going Ugandan with two wild and wispy things from Antwerp without checking that individually or collectively they constituted the current girlfriend, and at six in the morning I was forced to flee at the greatest speed available to Sturmey Archer users from her and a bus called something like The Garden of Earthly Delights.

By the time I had got a couple of hundred metres over the cobbles, I had acquired several flesh wounds, and the pannier belt straps had been torn off by the back spokes. I wasn't that bothered - strapping up had been tricky anway - and since that day I've just hung them off the back seat and tried earnestly to abstain from adultery.

Although I have rarely thought of them, they have since then been of great service on various occasions. They were my removal van one summer's weekend when I swapped a Cambridge hothouse for a City loony bin, they transported my ballgown, wigs and diverse accessories during my dazzling career as a transvestite bar pianist in the swamps of the Aryan hinterland, and Michael Jackson may have been inspired by them to prance the more when I cycled by mistake onto the Budapest set of his HIStory video.

If AGU want to send me some more, I will be most grateful and promise I'll take better care of them, but otherwise I hope some kind soul will gather and bury the important bits of me in these ones when I am finally crushed and quartered by a straying obesemobile.
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The requested URL /data/feed/api/user/111257672258796628424/album/KalebeulPanniers?kind=photo&authkey=Gv1sRgCPOj4fH-kOqlfA was not found on this server. That’s all we know.

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