Some folk don’t like cyclists, but everyone smiles when they see a happy terrier in a rucksack riding towards them

This article is part of a series called ‘A love letter to…’, where Cycling Weekly writers pour praise on their favourite cycling items (or, people) and share the personal connection they have with them. The below content is unfiltered, authentic and has not been paid for. 

I’ve been lucky enough to travel the globe through bike racing, both between the tapes and behind the wrenches, as a pro mechanic. I’ve ridden the world's famous trails, and guiding has taken me to some crazy places. But nothing beats my Friday night ride after work with my Trail Dog. Blasting down the side of a barley field with the sun on our backs, following the dog, who's on the trail of some mysterious animal, is the best feeling in the world.

The “Trail-Dog” in question is a small terrier of questionable parentage, who enjoys being involved in just about anything. We'll call her Gizmo, though it's not her real name.

I commute a few miles by bike everyday and since she was a pup, Gizmo has come with me. She’s equally happy running in front of the bike as she is in the rucksack - the former we have to restrict as she'd love to run far more than is sensible for someone barely a foot tall (if you include the ears). 

The purpose designed rucksack, by K9, means she can join me anywhere we go, it features harness points and straps designed to give her enough free movement, but also keep her on board when the going gets ruff (sorry, I couldn’t resist). 

Gizmo has explored the North of Spain, South of France, the South Downs, Surrey Hills, Kielder, the Lakes, Galloway, the Highlands, Welsh mountains and valleys, Dartmoor, the New Forest, Exmoor and most of Sweet Sussex with me so far. She loves a trail centre as much as a bridleway, or a new stretch of gravel.

One of the longest rides we did was a 100km offroad ride that started near Thetford - after about 20km I stopped to let her out of the rucksack to stretch her legs and have a run. I could barely keep up, she was like Mathieu van der Poel in the sand. Eventually, I had to put her back in the rucksack so that I could have a breather.

Everywhere we go, Gizmo she puts a smile on people's faces - I’ve no idea why some folk don’t like bikes or cyclists, but there are very few cold hearted souls who don’t smile when they see a small, happy, terrier in a rucksack riding towards them. It definitely breaks the ice with some people. In Spain, even the toughest looking builder could be heard to utter “Perrito” as we rolled past - in France the old ladies favoured the term, “Mon Chéri” (I’m assuming they meant the dog).

When she’s on the ground, Gizmo flies along like a slightly out of control missile, stopping for the odd sniff here and there, before attacking the next bit of singletrack. I’ve got a cowbell on my gravel bike so she’s aware of where the bike is, and of course, I’m always ready on the brakes for any last minute change of direction.

It’s a sad (and therefore rare) day now in our house when we get ready to go out on the bikes without the dog. She knows, of course, exactly what’s going on and immediately starts acting up. Half the time I cave in, cancel my plans and go riding with the dog instead. 

I was trying to think of a favourite ride I’ve done and a really hot day in the Lakes sprung to mind. Each climb we did I’d let her out to stretch the legs and help me navigate - she’s more accurate than a GPS computer - then we’d fly down the next downhill together, avoiding huge boulders and pockets of mud, then she’d have a drink in the stream at the bottom and we’d repeat that all day long until we got back to base! 

A few end bits of my dinner and a decent sleep, and she’s ready to do it all again tomorrow - I wish my own recovery was quite so quick.