Sprinkled with snow, the crumbling landmarks of Poland’s past provide the backdrop for an unlikely first bikepacking trip.
Words Dorota Juranek Photography Adam Klimek
It’s 7am on Saturday. The town is lazily waking up from last night’s bash. The streets are empty and all I can hear is the silent hum of the fat Farley tyres. No weather forecast predicted the snowfall, let alone blizzard. Inconveniently, the moment the world got covered with white snow was the moment I had to leave home. Well, what can you do? I slip my goggles off the helmet and exclude myself from the snowy assault, tackling the high street at maximum speed in order to get to the train station as quickly as possible. I may be looking rather peculiar. The bike is wearing bags like a Christmas tree; there’s the helmet and goggles which normal people associate with skiing, rather than biking… and those tyres… is that a motorbike or bicycle? So thick! How do you ride it? Anyone who has ridden a fat bike knows that they draw the attention of just about everyone. Just imagine a fully laden, bikepacking fat bike ridden by a goggled woman in the midst of the city. It’s like a wacko circus hit town.
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