“For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move…”

— Travels with a Donkey in the Cévennes, 1879, Robert Louis Stevenson

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RLS was a barely published author, living on the goodwill of his parents, when he took a trek through southern France in the company of Modestine. He didn’t have a knack for picking female company: the American woman he’d been courting returned to her husband, and Modestine was exceptionally stubborn, even for a donkey.

His account — part outdoor saga (one of the first to be published), part history (the area had seen bitter religious wars) and part personal philosophy (think The Snow Leopardabsent snow and leopard) — became a best-seller. Kidnapped, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and Treasure Island would follow, establishing his reputation as one of Britain’s most beloved authors.

Travels with a Donkey inspired the title of the last book written by then-ailing John Steinbeck, who circumnavigated the U.S. in a camper van named “Rocinante” (after Don Quixote’s horse). Like “Donkey,” Travels with Charley became an instant success. (Unlike “Donkey,” it was largely fiction dressed up as fact.)

My personal steed of choice has no name (and “Nameless” has already been appropriated by my stuffed baby gorilla), but she occupies as fond a place in my heart as Stevenson’s and Steinbeck’s modes of transport. She — I think of her as such — is a one-speed Dahon 20-inch wheel folding bike, weighing in at about 25 pounds and — with wheels removed — conforming to the magic “62-inch” rule for free passage when flying internationally. (One piece of checked baggage goes free if the length + breadth + height < 62 inches, and the weight < 50 pounds.)

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. Having just a single gear eliminates all sorts of problems (don’t get me started on broken drop hangers); the two folding mechanisms are simple, strong and fast; the rear coaster brake takes me back to childhood; a bare minimum of tools (plus spare tube) are needed to keep her in shape; a foot pump hides in the saddle post; and — how to put this? — she just works. No muss, no fuss, form is function.

For a relatively youthful lady, she’s seen more of the world than many of her peers, and, as best as I can tell, she’s willing and anxious to see yet more. Speaking of her peers: she’s a dying breed. Soon after I bought her (“adopted” would sound better), Dahon ceased production of their 20-inch one-speed models. Apparently, insufficient customers had been enticed by her many charms. Which is a shame: I believe the future of commuting will involve folding bikes which can be readily schlepped on buses and trains, small enough to be stored under a seat, light enough to be carried up a flight of stairs or so. (Our current digs finds us on the fifth floor, 78 steps.)

Not that she’s perfect, any more than were Modestine or Rocinante (four-legged or four-wheeled). Something about a titanium frame sounds pretty good. Ditto belt drive. But dissing her for shortcomings feels rather uncharitable, like wingeing about Siri for her stupid sense of humor. When Travels with a Folding Bike (as yet, unwritten) makes the NYT best-seller list, maybe then I’ll check out the latest and greatest models. Until then, she’s my second-best pal.