“Fjallraven - HOJA Ride Out”
Magazine feature detailing my experience riding my bicycle from Manchester to Sheffield with Fjallraven.
“Growing up in the countryside, bicycles have always been an important part of my life. Learning to ride a bike remains one of the core memories from my childhood, and even though I couldn’t have been older than 6, I still remember that feeling of my dad’s hands leaving my waist. It was intoxicating. As it turned out, too intoxicating, as I promptly cycled straight into a fence.
Learning to ride a bicycle signified my first real taste of freedom. No longer was I reliant on my parents to shuttle me in the car, I could now – if equipped with a helmet and modestly calibrated brakes – go wherever I pleased. The park, school, to my mate’s houses. It opened up an entire new world, and ever since I’ve always had my own bicycle within reaching distance.
When I was 13, it was a Specialized Hotrock – my first proper bike, and the one I took the most slams on. In high school, I graduated to a Giant bought from Facebook Marketplace for £45 after a haggling masterclass. Then a few months after realising it was far too small, I sold it to buy a Carrera Sulcata – the first bicycle I learnt to do wheelies on and the first bicycle I had stolen. Twice. Initially in my sleepy hometown, where it was subsequently retrieved from the window of a local Cash Converter. But the second time, in the big city of Liverpool, I wasn’t so lucky.
After the heartbreak of losing my Carrera, I took a brief hiatus from mountain bikes and switched to a B-Twin road bike. But its skinny tyres never quite suited Liverpool’s acne-ridden asphalt, and after getting crashed into by an Irish grandma in a Ford KA, I eventually sacked the road bike life off.
In search of a quick replacement, I spent hours on Facebook Marketplace, eyeing anyone with what I deemed to be a lowball-able profile picture - until I remembered a bike we had lying around at home. An old mountain bike from the ‘90s one of my dad’s mates had given him years ago. From what I remembered, it was in decent condition - barring a broken shifter, a casualty induced by my dad on an intensive country pub crawl. After receiving a few questionable WhatsApp photos from the man himself, I decided the bike would probably suffice for my Salford-to-Manchester commute.
A much-needed scrub uncovered a decal beneath the years of dirt - ‘Saracen’ - written in a silver metal band-esque font. After washing, I set about replacing the hungover shifter, which subsequently launched me headfirst into a bicycle modification rabbit hole. The next weekends were spent scouring bins at my local charity bike shop, and after a couple weeks of work, a hundred YouTube tutorials, and loads of frayed cables I had my Saracen looking shipshape.
Now, I don’t know whether it’s the sheer number of hours I’ve spent fixing this bike, or just the bulletproof ‘90s build quality - but it’s hands down the most fun I've ever had on two wheels. Going downhill is fun. Going uphill is fun. Skids are fun. Even stopping at red lights is fun. It reminds me of that feeling I had the first time I rode a bike. It doesn’t matter what the weather’s doing, how far I’m going, or who I’m going to see - riding my Saracen is always enjoyable.
As it turns out, the Swedes have a word for this exact style of cycling - Hoja. Translating to “riding a bike just for the fun of it,” and it also happens to be the name of Fjällräven’s new bikepacking range...
