The Cyclist Who Went Out in the Cold: Adventures Riding the Iron Curtain [Idioma Inglés] - Tapa dura

"You don't have to be into cycling to reap the benefits ofGironimo!An entertaining and jauntily written travelogue that made me laugh out loud. With Moore as your guide, you may want to hurry over to Italy on the next flight out. "

Bill Bryson on two wheels.

"You don't have to be into cycling to reap the benefits ofGironimo!An entertaining and jauntily written travelogue that made me laugh out loud. With Moore as your guide, you may want to hurry over to Italy on the next flight out.

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Engaging and elucidating. An enjoyable account of an amazing human accomplishment.

In this funny and fascinating tale of cycling, Tim Moore takes the reader on a journey few will ever attempt, let alone finish. Hilarious.

Moore's journey is peppered with self-deprecating humor. Very entertaining. Moore's patented combination of humor and travelogue proves thoroughly engaging.

After three months and a close-up look at some 20 countries, Moore has a very funny and poignant story to tell. Vivid and fresh.

A laugh-out-loud account.

The Cyclist Who Went Out in the Cold is not for bike geeks alone. It stuffs your panniers with just the right wodges of political history (keep a British-slang dictionary nearby to fully appreciate the book) and makes you cheer the invention of armchair travel. This cyclist may have gone out in the cold, but his book is just the thing to stay indoors with this winter.

Moore is a quick and keen observer. His wit is a consistent pleasure. And this 'in the cold' travelogue is an extraordinarily audacious and absorbing venture.

Not content with tackling the Italian Alps or the route of the Tour de France, Tim Moore sets out to scale a new peak of rash over-ambition: 6,000 mile route of the old Iron Curtain on a tiny-wheeled, two-geared East German shopping bike.Asking for trouble and getting it, Moore sets off from the northernmost Norwegian-Russian border at the Arctic winter’s brutal height, bullying his plucky MIFA 900 through the endless sub-zero desolation of snowbound Finland. Sleeping in bank vaults, imperial palaces and unreconstructed Soviet youth hostels, battling vodka-breathed Russian hostility, Romanian landslides and a diet of dumplings, Moore and his ‘so-small bicycle’ are sustained by the kindness of reindeer farmers and Serbian rock gods, plus a shameful addiction to Magic Man energy drink. Haunted throughout by the border detritus of watchtowers and rusted razor wire, Moore reflects on the curdling of the Communist dream, and the memories of a Cold War generation reared on the fear of apocalypse—at a time of renewed East-West tension. After three months, twenty countries and a fifty-eight degree jaunt up the thermostat, man and bike finally wobble up to a Black Sea beach in Bulgaria, older and wiser, but mainly older.