The Art of The Faff

Faffing. I’ll never forget the first time I heard this term. I was deep into my first year of the Bike Magazine Bible of Bike Tests (lovingly called Bible Camp) when editor Nicole Formosa joked that we were too busy faffing to get anything done on time. At first, I paused thinking this term was something kind of…naughty, but then I did a little inquiring and learned that this is a British slang term. I prefer to consult Urban Dictionary whenever I question a word for the sake of creativity and here’s where we’ve landed. Faff: Verb- 1. to waste time doing nothing. 2. to waste time doing stupid things 3. to delay, dilly-dally. I’m here to report that faffing has become one of my greatest joys while riding bikes, and to share with you why you, too, should add a little faff to your life.

In some circles, faffing might be considered a hindrance to a ride. It slows you down and causes unexpected delays. My pal, Mike Ferrentino, has some wild stories and what appears to be some associated PTSD to go along with them, and a mantra that I feel compelled to impart. "There Shall be No Faffing When Mosquito Hatches Or Waning Daylight Are Concerned." Live and learn.

So, yeah, faffing derails plans, but the more I ride bikes the less I want to follow a plan. Life feels so structured. Go to school, get a job, get a partner, pay the man. Retire when you’re too old to do anything worthwhile, get old, and die. Thanks, but I’ll pass on that script. The closest I’ve ever come to following plans on my bike is the single winter I hired a coach to whip my ass into shape so I could go uphill slightly faster than a snail. I followed his torture regimen with military precision and voila, rarely do I need to vomit at the top of a climb anymore. I’ll admit the benefits of following structure in regards to making gains is obviously sensical, but what about for just your everyday ride?

I have never been an ultra-competitive person on my bike. I prefer to ride for fun versus speed and the only QOM I’m likely to ever get is how fast it takes me to get out of my riding gear and into the lake in the summer. Still, I never realized just how much faffing I did on my rides until recently when I was checking out my Strava after what should by all means be a short lap. I chuckled when I saw it took me two hours to do a ride that I could easily knock off in 45 minutes. Why the snail's pace? Because riding Galbraith is like going into Cheers, where everyone knows your name and the mountain is a literal happy hour after people get off work. It doesn’t help that I’m an extremely social, extroverted person, and conversation comes easily to me, so I chat up everyone that I see.

On this ride that took me two hours, I rode approximately 7 miles and topped out at 1200 feet (365m) of climbing. In other words, not much, especially for 120 minutes of on-bike time. This particular ride, though, was with a very close friend, and every time whenever we get together our rides turn into something more akin to friend therapy. It’s when we catch up on life, gossip about all the things, and sort through challenges. We often stop, stare at the views, listen to the birds, and marvel over how lucky we are to live here. We talked about relationships, the job market, politics—you name it. Those 45 minutes of riding were still there, and they were at a half-decent pace, but the other 1:15? That was us being present in the moment and having a real conversation that’s not taking place in a text format. That is the art of the faff.

I’ll bet you all know people who love beer rides. This is a big part of the bike culture in Bellingham—so much so that we’ve even got a trail named Beer Run. Here’s the recipe for a proper beer run: a nice, heart-thumping climb, a view, a can of your favorite beverage (no actual alcohol required), and at least one other person with whom you can perform the obligatory “cheers.” Sit. Sip. Take in the world. Breathe that mountain air. Let time tick by and don’t worry about what you might be missing. FOMO doesn’t exist in these moments. You ARE the moment. This is the art of the faff.

I have a crew of friends that I travel with regularly. Last year we went to Finale Ligure and spent 10 days smashing out shuttle laps with the coolest guide you’ll ever meet, and equally as much time inhaling gelato, Aperol spritzes, wandering through pastel-hued alleyways, and belly-flopping in the Mediterranean. We saw ancient architecture, fumbled our way through Italian conversations, and drank enough espresso to go bell-to-bell on bikes and still have energy for a sunset swim. We rode a lot, sure, but we vacationed equally as hard and Italian faffing may be in its own elite genre. (If anyone is hiring for a professional Italian faffer, HMU.) It was this trip that really brought faffing from just a funny term to something I now seek out on many rides.

You see, I’m actually a recovering type-A, list-making, ultra-planner. If there was a party, I was planning it. If there was a vacation, I knew what we’d be doing every minute of every day. If there was a bike ride, we knew the exact route we’d be taking before we set foot out of the car. It was exhausting for me and probably everyone around me as well. When I learned to slow down and just let the wind blow, it changed everything for me. It showed me that riding doesn’t need to be about achieving anything other than good times with good people, and the best times are entirely unscripted. That is the art of the faff.

This year, my Italy crew went deep into the interior of BC rolling through some of our favorite biking zones. We’d loosely planned for two days in Revy, a day at Mt. Abriel, a day at Retallack, and a finish in Rossland, but we tossed our plans out the window and did what felt great instead of what we thought might be good. Instead, we found ourselves with four monster days in Revelstoke and still left so much on the table. We made it to Abriel and instead of doing our planned evening ride we took paddleboards out on the lake, tied them together, and laid back as the clouds morphed from lobsters to butt cheeks to goldfish while a crescent moon sank against a peach/blue sky over the Kootenays. We giggled at the fact that a bunch of 30 and 40-somethings still think clouds can look like dicks. It was one of those core memories that I’ll come back to time and time again. It was the finest form of faffing.

Now, for the critical discussion: how does one become adept at the art of faffing? The primary factor is letting go of control. For some people, this comes easy, but for others (like me) this is incredibly challenging. It takes trusting that your crew is cool with things sometimes going awry and being ok with a really late dinner and an extra unplanned climb. It’s taking the dirt road instead of the pavement. It’s finding that secret loamer off the map, on-siting it, and cleaning it while howling with unfettered excitement while you surf your way through piles of fresh dirt. It’s also having to hike back up because said loamer isn’t yet complete from top to bottom. It’s sitting on the dilapidated bridge while the cool water rushes underneath you on a hot, hot day. It’s catching up with your pals and asking—I mean really asking—how they’re doing while you’re out on a ride. It’s fixing the flat, but forgetting your tire plugs and using something like chewing gum and crossing your fingers. It’s stopping for all the views, all the berries, and smelling all the flowers.

In other words, the art of faff is a lot like living in the moment and letting yourself just soak in the moment. We’re all so busy doing things all the time, but what are we getting out of rushing from task A to task B and C? Nothing in the world causes me anxiety like rushing (except the parking lot at Trader Joe's. WTF is wrong with that place!), yet I find myself in a constant state of hustling from one thing to the next. Riding my bike is one of the only times when I can proactively just...be. It’s hard to choose to slow down, but when you’re in a beautiful place that you’ve worked hard to find, why rush to leave? 

It’s taken me decades of rushing to learn to slow down, and also, an occasional reminder from my favorite guru that, “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

Faff on, my friends.