Camping with a bicycle - 1911 version

Here is a transcript of a 1911 article from The Yorkshire Post - please forgive the old style English, it’s very interesting nevertheless!

We are all nomads by instinct. The trammels of civilization and the discipline of industry, which enforce upon many of us a “set grey life”, with a dull daily routine amid whirring machinery, and bricks and mortar everywhere stopping the vision, may have repressed the instinct, but it is not dead. The sight of a gypsy caravan or his rough encampment by the roadside will readily arouse it, and the open air campaigners have brought us one great benefit. They have taught us to dread less what we have grown too much to consider as the discomfort of open-air life – the rain, the wind, and the mists – and to take at its true value the freedom and the freshness which it gives. Everywhere now, from early summer until late autumn, the countryside in the neighbourhood of towns is to be seen dotted with white tents, in and about which young men, and even families, spend their evenings and their weekends, to their immeasurable benefit, while camping holidays for cyclists are becoming increasingly popular. There are few pleasanter forms of holiday.

Having had some experience of the matter, we consider that there are two ways in which to spend a holiday of this kind. One may either carry a camping kit on a bicycle, and pitch one's tent on the first convenient spot at the end of a day's ride; or one may select a good site, say, in the Highlands, the Lake District, or North Wales, and sending on good camp equipment in advance, make that one's headquarters for out-and-home rides. The latter is the course which we have followed, and much prefer. The most essential thing for success is that time and attention should be bestowed beforehand on the arrangements. The selection of a gently sloping pitch on porous soil is most important, for if the ground be clayey and flat either a trench must be dug round the tent or the risk must be run of being swamped in the night by one of those heavy downpours of rain to which, in this variable climate, we are ever liable. It is no pleasant thing to awake in the night, and find half a dozen streams of water trickling under the blanket.

For this, among other reasons, we do not favour a frequent change of pitch, for one cannot be certain of finding a suitable one at the proper time, or even of finding a complaisant farmer. It is not all farmers who care for the pitching of a tent in their fields. And then there is the question of carrying the equipment. We have seen various lists of light camping equipment, but never yet one which we should like to carry for 40 miles on a bicycle. Take the familiar single A-shaped tent, with poles and case, a rubber ground-sheet, small stove with detachable parts, aluminium canteen, and one or two other personal etceteras, such as a change of stockings or under-linen. Light as it is, and packed ever so carefully in a square carrier on the front of the bicycle, it cannot weigh less, if it is to be at all adequate, than 12lb. to 15lb. Of course, if the site of the camp be changed every three or four days, this may be tolerable. It is no doubt nice to feel that one can fold up one's tent like the Arabs and “as silently steal away”. Tastes differ. We have a strong dislike for extra weight of any kind on a bicycle, and so prefer the fixed site. On a motor bicycle with a sidecar one need, of course, have less fear of weight, for then an extra blanket or two, or a stouter tent, can easily be stowed away. 

The fixed site.

A very light equipment was not the kind we chose for a fixed site. We took (the party was rather a large one, and mixed) army bell tents, not rejects, patched and worn, which are of no earthly use, but such as can be procured at a moderate figure from any good maker and dealer in tents. Ground sheets, a good supply of blankets, two stoves, and cooking utensils completed the equipment. What was brought above that were mere personal luxuries, for which each individual was responsible. But of one thing make certain – let the tents be good, and, if possible, treated with a raintight process, of which we have had experience, and which enables one, after heavy rain, to knock against the inside of the tent without the slightest fear of the wet trickling through afterwards. As to the site, let someone go beforehand to inspect it, and make arrangements with the farmer or landowner, and be sure that it is sloping, porous ground. For the first year the cost of the equipment will make the expense fairly heavy, but much of that is saved in the cost of living and the absence of boarding-house-expenses, while at the end of holiday, the tents and other articles can be safely stowed away for use another year. For beds, hessian cloth bags or mattresses, which any farmer will stuff with chaff for a small charge, make couches both warm and comfortable.

The site of our camp was the North coast of Anglesey, looking up the Irish Sea, with capital bathing almost at the tent door, and with a splendid view of the Welsh hills across the Menai Straits. How often did we sit in a deck chair long after midnight, smoking a pipe of peace and watching the moon rise over those hills, while the water broke against the foot of the cliff with a dull, regular, soothing sound. Or the night was starlit and moonless, and we walked along the deserted beach watching the ripple of the waves and listening to the weird screaming of the gulls overhead. The Anglesey roads, irregular and badly metalled, are a sore trial of patience, but six or seven miles of riding and we were across on to the mainland, and among the Welsh hills, with a bit of climbing to do, but many a glorious coast to pay for the trouble; or we varied the riding by a long walk by the cliffs round the head of the Bay to Llandona and up the hill with the view over Beaumaris to the Straits, dotted with the white sails of yachts. And then back to camp at night, with a smoke and a chat, or a song round the campfire. Truly was a glorious holiday, leaving memories we will never fade.

But “What of the wet days?” someone is sure to ask. Well, what of the wet days on tour, or even (the gods deliver us!) in a seaside lodging-house? And herein came the value of our precautions. We were covered by stout canvas, which withstood such downpours as only clouds driven back from the Welsh hills can deliver, and in all conscience they are heavy enough. During the rains of last August, when growling Terriers were being washed out in the Isle of Man, our clothing inside the tents was always dry, and as for wet top coats and mackintoshes, we simply bundled them up and hung them out to dry when the sun shone. For amusement, we slept and eat, and read, and dozed again, and whilom paid visits to mine host and his guests at the nearest hotel, to be commiserated with, and to boast of our hardihood and our exploits. But even on wet days there were outdoor pleasures. There was pleasure in walking on the cliffs, inhaling the fresh sea air; there was pleasure again in walking over to a camp which a party of motorists had pitched a few fields away, and comparing notes upon our experiences – and our cooking. And when the sun shone there was additional pleasure in returning to the bicycle for another day's spin. In the whole month of our stay not a single person in the camp caught a cold. The secret of which lies in these two precautions – get the best of canvas and pitch on ground with a good natural drainage. As for appetites – the village butcher, when we paid him the bill, spoke his thanks in most voluble Welsh. The Welsh we did not understand, but the thanks we guessed at from the blandness of his smile.