The workshop floor is where every trip starts: everything laid out in rows like evidence. Tent, bag, mat. Stove, pot, spoon. Two of everything you wear, one of everything you don't. Tools, tubes, a chain link, the multitool with the thing for the thing.
Then the second list, which is the important one. Take the stove away — every village in Germany has a bakery and every bakery has coffee. Take the second shirt away. Take the book away and admit you'll be asleep by nine.
What I actually used, in order of how often: the pump. The rain jacket. The spoon. The chain link, once, near Rostock, at a moment when I'd have paid a hundred euros for it. The little bottle of chain oil that I always think is a luxury and is always the thing.
What I carried 460 km and never touched: a spare brake cable, a second pair of shorts, and a paperback about cycling. The bike knows. The bike always knows.
