Today I left for a 10-day trip across Canada, with a folding bike and my mom. No, I'm not riding across the continent on 20-inch wheels with my mom sitting on the rack, though that would also be very fun. We're traveling by train with long stops in Vancouver, Toronto, Montreal, and, if time permits, Quebec City, then down to New York for my cousin's wedding at the Central Park Zoo. We'll make short stops in smaller towns in between, when I'll hop out and ride around in frantic little circles.

And yes, I am indeed going to use the BTA blog as my personal soapbox and travel diary. I have no shame.

Tomorrow I'll report on Vancouver, BC: bike boulevards, paths, parks, local politics and battles over bike facilities on a big bridge into town (sound familiar?). Lots of photos. Stay tuned.

But why am I spending 4 days on trains instead of 5 hours on a plane to get there? It all started in the security line in Newark airport last year on my way to a cousin's wedding. TSA took things a little too far with me and I declared righteously that I was never flying again. This was the final emotional break-up fight in a long and turbulent relationship between me and airport security guards (past arguments include "Are lentils and rice a solid, or a liquid?" and "Is the residue of liquid that I am shaking onto my tongue from this empty plastic bottle a danger to others?" and "What do I need to do to prove that the mysterious metal in my chest is the underwire to my bra?") The Newark guards were overwhelmed with regret and despair at having lost me as a customer, as I'm sure you can imagine.

I've already broken (and remade in another TSA line, and rebroken shortly thereafter) that vow. But I decided to train it across the continent for this next cousin's wedding; it was the least I could do for my dignity, even if it did start with a flight from Portland to Vancouver, BC. My mother, good sport that she is, is coming too.

The folding bike is a Batavus, loaned by my friend Jessica, who bought it from Todd Boulanger, Vancouver (WA) bike enthusiast and collector. When I took it to the very clever folks at Clever Cycles (who are also very generous – when they asked me when I needed it boxed and I said, embarrassed, "Tomorrow morning" they didn't laugh me out of the store) they looked at it sideways and said "Is that a Todd Boulanger bike?" So it must be pretty unique.

Well for two weeks it's mine. It's a little big. Now I understand why people get tiny Tikits and Bromptons that fold up into a lady's purse. This bike is lightweight, easy to adjust, and pretty fast, but too big to fit through the carry-on x-ray machine at the airport. So it had to be boxed. And it turns out they don't make a box that's 32" by 32" by 18". The Clever Cycles folks tried every box they had to no avail.

So my friend Carl built a pretty awesome box out of a giant sheet of cardboard in exchange for a pina colada. Awkward but sturdy. I picked it up at the baggage claim today and Carl, it worked. Bike snapped together perfectly, nothing dinged, nothing scratched.

I can say this about the TSA guards: they did a nice job closing the box back up after checking it for bombs. Maybe this is the trip that will bring us back together.

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