There were two neat dings in the tailgate, identically deep and perfectly horizontal, like some kind of metallic snakebite. Above the fang marks was the print of a blunter animal: a rutting bighorn, maybe. In those three dents—two pricks and a punch—you can learn a few things about Mike Marchand. For one: The 2009 Dirty … More Mike Marchand Wants You to Know He’s OK. I Want You to Know He’s Awesome.
This blog’s gravelly focus belies the fact that a big hunk of the unmentioned miles we ride are of the paved flavor. And for every joyful weekend gravel jaunt, there are six or eight urban yawners where I’m just a guy on his way to or from the office. Most of these commutes are indistinguishable … More Gravel’s Gridlock: Riding the country rush hour