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

The bike provides a unique vehicle (and perfect pace) for more intimate travel. It also unearths circumstances uncommon to other modes of transportation yet ideal for connecting with locals. A warmly recommended tour that touches on travel, history, and cycling.

A laugh-out-loud account.

Something in the clicking turns of the wheels begins to pull you along. You find yourself grinning with Moore in sheepish recognition of the idiocy of what he's doing, waving with him at the bemused/befuddled/belligerent reactions of passing motorists and head-shaking townfolk alike. It becomes, for sure, one weirdly captivating ride.

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

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.

Moore undertakes a quixotic 20-country adventure on a two-wheeled Rocinante--an East German-era shopper bike that proves a capable and symbolic partner for personal and political discovery. A bittersweet memoir.

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.

Moore outdid himself in his latest adventure.

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

A mirthful account of [Moore's] perversely arduous ordeal.

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.