Sew Many Miles: Cycling the UK with a Sewing Machine (Video)

Have you ever wondered whether household appliances can be transported by bicycle? Well, neither had I until the idea of sewing bikepacking bags for a couple of friends ballooned into traversing the length of the United Kingdom with a sewing machine. 

The elaborate idea came about when figuring out how best to measure a friend’s frame triangle to sew them a frame bag. The problem was that they lived at the opposite end of the country. “Well, why don’t you just cycle here with your sewing machine?” was a passing comment that sparked something because, theoretically, I actually could cycle to the opposite end of the United Kingdom with my sewing machine.

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After a couple of days of brainstorming, the plan was coming together. I would carry a sewing machine with the supplies to make a series of custom frame bags. For those who wanted a bag, I could stop at their house, measure their bike, design a bag together, and then produce said bag. Oh, and there would be a bit of cycling in there, too.

The first challenge was finding people interested in a frame bag. A product from a more reputable maker or brand would surely seem more attractive. My method of generating interest consisted of selling the bags at an accessible price point and hoping the novelty of the idea would create some traction. By all accounts, it did, and before long, I had 20 people interested in a bag and willing to put down a deposit. They were all over the United Kingdom, so why not cycle the length of the UK in the process as well? That was enough to justify the journey, so soon after that, the cogs were turning, and I had an enormous 20-kilogram delivery of fabric at my front door. I wondered how on earth I would ever move this monstrosity, let alone cycle with it.

Fitting a sewing machine onto a bicycle has its challenges, too. Do you strap it on top of a pannier, break it into little pieces, or pop it in a trailer? It’s a fair interpretation to say I’m an idealist, and the image of a bicycle, a wobbly trailer, and a sewing machine bouncing about inside just seemed such a hilarious one. The reality of that hilarity is an uncontrollable death machine that requires Chris Hoy’s legs to get up any hill and a mind stronger than mine. Golly, this wasn’t going to be easy!

The Flow of the Sew

The most nerve-wracking moment of any adventure is often the lead-up to it. The anticipation of what’s to come overwhelms the reality of what’s involved. This journey began at the windswept point of England, Land’s End, where I set off for the first few miles of the trip. A nervous start but a start nonetheless, since I’d figured that if I could cycle 100 metres on the bicycle, then the United Kingdom would be possible.

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An often overlooked aspect of cycling a heavy single-wheeled trailer is going downhill. It’s terrifying. One little movement on the bike, and you’re entering a swaying battle of wiggles and creaks as the trailer tries to find its way down the hill. After a couple of heart-racing descents in Cornwall, the bike, trailer, and sewing machine were becoming one. They were moving together and getting used to their new life on the road.

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My first sewing stop was in North Devon to make a bag for a complete stranger who’d found out about the project online and been in touch. Said stranger was the winner of this year’s Southern Divide bikepacking race and was keen for a green frame bag on their titanium steed. The challenges of sewing a bag in a stranger’s home suddenly became apparent. Although well-received, I was distracted by a dog so cute that sewing became impossible and conversation so wonderful that it was easy to forget the primary task. But a few hours later, I’d finished a bag, and the sewing journey was truly underway. Now, I just had to repeat this process several times over.

Next up was Bristol, where I had seven bags to sew. With an exceptionally vibrant bike community, Bristol had the potential to lure me in for too long. Frame bag orders were coming in thick and fast, and if I were to have many more, I’d have been looking at setting up shop for a while! 

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Before long, though, I was off for more tarp nights and bothy delights, motte-and-bailey castles, and coastal ambles. By the time I’d had enough of cycling and wanted to get inside sewing, it wasn’t long before I desired to return to the bike again. Finding a rhythm on both the bike and the sewing chair was key. If I overdid the cycling, my body would be screaming at me, and if I overdid the sewing, my brain would be screaming at me instead. With the sewing, there was this perfect excuse to be inside and resting, something often overlooked on a bike trip. Perhaps if we travelled with more ideas for off-bike entertainment, we’d find more comfort and enjoyment in the riding itself.

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Crossing the border into Wales was an exceptional relief. I had successfully delivered frame bags to all areas of Bristol and met some exciting and vibrant bike lovers in the process. And the plan was actually materialising. Friends of friends were sharing rumours about the sewing machine journey, and before long, my inbox was flooded with people dotted about the United Kingdom wanting a frame bag. A thread of bikes and creative spirit bending and wiggling through the English and Welsh countryside—we were moving!

I endured some longer days on the saddle to avoid another winter storm, and the bike hustle really began. Tackling this trip in the middle of winter for sure had its challenges, but after being blessed with a night sky that saw vibrant pinks and purples for hours after sunset and a tailwind that finally blew me in the right direction, there was hope that things would get easier. Just as another storm landed in the United Kingdom, I rolled into North Yorkshire, happy to be inside and sewing once again. 

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A cycle route called the Easy East Coaster seemed the perfect match for the trailer and sewing machine. A quiet coastline inundated with distractions. Crashing waves, sand martens, and swerving oystercatchers painted distinct coastal soundscapes. The route led me up the east coast and across the border into Scotland. Being in Scotland offered many benefits, the beginnings of pine forests, and friendlier attitudes towards wild camping and adventures. It was a welcome change to the hostility of the south.

The cyclists are Dotted within the cities, passionate about adventures on two wheels and spending time outside with others. A common interest in pedalling, excessive amounts of snacking, and bike geekery. By the time city life had drawn me in, it wasn’t long before my bicycle and sewing machine were twitching to get outside again. The Scottish Highlands tempted me to get off the sewing machine and out to the hills.

The West Highland Way and Gravelfoyle reminded me that cycling with a trailer is exciting in different ways, and they delivered wonderful forests and plenty of inclement weather. As if the whole cycling with a sewing machine idea wasn’t silly enough, the Singer came along for a wild ride through the Gaick Pass and over to the regenerating wonderland of Glen Feshie.

Although predominantly a solo journey, some moments were best shared with others. Friends wanted to join the madness and test the silly setup. “It’s an unstoppable force, just so damn heavy. Newton, the trailer should be called Newton,” one said. From then onwards, the sewing machine-bearing bike trailer was called Newton. A sheer unstoppable force. Seeing the trailer bump and weave through the snow, mud, and rucky landscape inspired great adventure potential. Entertainingly unwieldy, it turns out handling Newton took me the whole of the UK to figure out.

Bobbin’ About

The United Kingdom presents itself as a haven for cycling exploration with myyriad cycle paths and bridleways that link up on the National Cycle Network. A great place to travel, but the little hurdles that a regular two-wheeled bicycle encounters quickly become obstacles of epic proportions for a three-wheeled, 40-kilogram contraption. A trail could throw many hurdles, a rocky escarpment edge, a river crossing, or worse, a gate.

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A gate could provide a difficult manouvering challenge or a tedious process of unpacking the trailer and passing item by item through the gate. Gate avoidance becomes a real thing, and a two-kilometre detour around a gate could prevent having to load and unload the trailer, which could save a lot of time and hassle. If you meet a deer fence, well, it’s game over.

Yet, despite the nuisance of the sewing machine, seeing the trailer bouncing around the trails of the Scottish Highlands was particularly endearing. Once you’ve crossed the boundary from sensible to ridiculous, amplifying the adventure to sillier heights is only a natural progression. Upping the ante only seemed natural, so when presented with taking the sewing machine over snowy Cairngorm passes, this seemed the perfect challenge.

More Than a Frame Bag

By our very nature, we thrive on stories. If you have ever had a bit of kit for a long time, whether that’s a bicycle you’ve kept for years, your favourite pair of shoes, a set of handlebars, a buff, or even a special spoon, you start to know the kit well. Now, take those bits of kit on epic adventures, and suddenly, you develop a bond where you’re so attached to that thing you can’t imagine life without it. Yet, how come the kit we use appears so lifeless?

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The primary language of modern outdoor kit product design appears to be clean, which is intended to stand for new, perfect, anonymous, valuable, efficient, universal, pure, and honest. The clean product represents something that everyone can buy, something that does not have a history, that can belong in everyone’s life. This product is purposely designed to hide any traces of its origins. Its material dimensions and production methods are obscured by a glossy finish.

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In an age of standardisation and regulation, having something custom-made becomes a novelty. Now, the travelling merchant sewing items from his bicycle is irregular and uncommon. And sewing really is one of the great crafts. Like many things, a person, an object, a place; once you connect with them, you’ll start to care. I’d like to think these personalised bags have a story behind them, a reason to care and keep, to look after them. Or, if anything, those who ordered a bag will remember the slightly deranged cyclist who turned up with a sewing machine and an adventurous glint in his eye.

Sew Many Miles

Reaching the end of an adventure can often be a letdown. For the journey itself, the end is the goal all along, and the wooden signpost marking the top of the UK really is just that; a bit of wood with paint on it. Yet, it really did feel all-encompassing and marked a great achievement for sewing machine kind. Newton the trailer had managed it, and the sewing machine had absolutely smashed it.

Sewing, Cycling, and Obscure Ideas

If time is ample and experience is paramount, then why aren’t more people taking household appliances on adventures in the mountains? Sure, convention suggests we should be making cycling easier for ourselves with lighter kit, better waterproofs, and aerodynamic design. But by doing this, you miss so much: travelling slower than walking pace for an entire day, getting a trailer stuck in the mud, and becoming soaked through to your underpants as you push the sewing machine up yet another benign slope. You really connect with the experience, feel every moment, and, in turn, have a far greater appreciation for where you are and what you’re doing. This isn’t a suggestion to take your sewing machine bikepacking—it’s a truly awful idea. But perhaps we should all take the time to travel slowly and embrace our obscure ideas.

Further Reading

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