A columnist for Bicycling
magazine, Kurmaskie (Metal Cowboy) valorizes the unexpected vista or encounter above all else: "I like to think of the world as a grab bag, one that I rarely peek inside before the party gets rolling." Structured as a series of short trips rather than a single extended trek, this breezy, unpretentious volume covers such far-flung locales as Ireland, Peru and New Zealand. Inevitably romanticizing the material, Kurmaskie adopts the persona of your affable, "extreme" pal who's good with words. The emphasis is less on the physical toll of cycling than on the people and places encountered along the way. Kurmaskie runs into some noteworthy characters, including a former insurance agent turned Acapulco dumpster diver and an Vietnam vet turned Mexican bounty hunter. While Kurmaskie's escapades sometimes feel like tall tales, his occasional willingness to pad the text with personal if irrelevant reveries about, for example, a fondly remembered Bruce Springsteen concert, enhance his credibility—if every chapter beggared the imagination, readers would have more reason to look askance. Thankfully, some of his anecdotes (e.g., his quest to track down an Irish all-female bagpipe squad) don't work out according to the expected script. A chapter on curious syntax in signs reinforces the author's similarities to Bill Bryson, but the mode here is bubbly enthusiasm rather than dyspeptic weariness. All in all, Kurmaskie's gregarious willingness to play the role of a "ramshackle traveling carnival" makes for a highly amusing read. (May)
