This article is part of a series called ‘A love letter to…’, where Cycling Weekly writers pour praise on their favourite cycling items and share the personal connection they have with them. The below content is unfiltered, authentic and has not been paid for.
Love really does move in mysterious ways. If I look back at my diary entries, had I written one, I might have seen the pattern, glaring back at me, that you, the humble sandwich bag, were always there, and still are.
At first I thought I was in love with the object you were gently caressing, dutifully protecting the signature bit on my debit card or looking after my phone box change. Later you cared for my first mobile phone. I lovingly placed my Nokia 3110 mobile in your trusted embrace. In hindsight, it probably didn’t need any looking after. It was, after all, indestructible, but you still performed your unwavering role at keeping water at bay.
Then along came smart phones, the handsets of my dreams, and you performed just as impeccably. A mini computer in my pocket, and in you I put my trust to keep each one safe and dry. Surprise rainstorms are no match for you. And while phones are eventually all replaced, you are not. Ever present, my trusty sandwich bag.
Of course there have been times when a fancier version of a ‘valuables pouch’ has tried to infiltrate our relationship, offering more robust packaging, or even a zip closure. But none have lasted long, or done the job as seamlessly as you do. Your natural properties make you a perfect wrapper for smoothly transitioning between hand and back pocket. You have nothing to hide, your transparency allows me to see a screen so clearly, and, should I need to access your contents, allow me in with minimal fuss.
You’ve been with me for every pedal revolution of my cycling journey. We’ve travelled the world together. You’ve held phones, race radios, iPods, and even encased my Sony Discman - although I agree the latter was a frustrating listening experience.
You’ve been my liquid bag at airports, my washbag on holiday and you've isolated greasy pedals from the rest of my cycling kit when I’ve required them for travelling without a bike attached.
I’ve never had to buy your love in return. And yet, I fear our time together is coming to an end.
I keep losing you. You never seem to be in your home, the kitchen drawer, in which you reside. Pre-ride I scour possible locations of pockets, bumbags, post-ride helmet contents in order to find you again. I’d rather postpone a ride than risk going without you.
Of course, I know the attitudes of the world are changing. My sandwich bag, the one thing I can’t do without, is for many a single-use plastic. And though it is far from a one night stand for us, our relationship is under threat.
So here's to you, my humble sandwich bag, protector of electronics in all elements. You're worn down, crumpled, desperate to be replaced, but as long as your seal locks shut, you'll be coming with my on all of my adventures.
