Meet Quccimelo

Sana and I were supposed to be in Patagonia for our honeymoon. We were not in Patagonia. We were in a McDonald's outside the Quito airport, trying to figure out where to sleep that night.

We showed up at the Houston airport with hiking packs, crampons, and all the gear for a polar climate, only to find out our connection to Patagonia had fallen apart. The new routing would have us arriving days later than planned. So we walked to the departures board and looked for the next flight to somewhere. There was a direct flight to Quito in a few hours. We bought a ticket at the counter and boarded the plane.

Impromptu Ecuador turned out to be one of the best trips we've ever taken. We landed, found wifi at a McDonald's, booked a place to stay, and figured out the rest as we went. Eventually we made our way toward Quilotoa, a volcanic crater lake in the Andes. It was at a hostel in Quilotoa where we met the most memorable character of the trip.

She was a touring cyclist from Türkiye. She started in Alaska and paused in Ecuador to nurse a fractured collarbone. While she was healing, she was working at the hostel. This alone would have made her interesting enough to remember. But then we met her cat.

Along her journey, she'd found a cat in Mexico. She named him Cuchimelo. And Cuchimelo, unbothered by the logistics of bicycle touring, had ridden in her front basket from Mexico all the way to Ecuador. I don't know what Cuchimelo thought about the whole thing, but he seemed to be managing fine.

We didn't keep up with her after that. I don't even remember her name. But I never forgot Cuchimelo.

Fast forward ten years. I'm planning a ride of my own — Cartagena to Ushuaia, starting June 2026, about six to seven months of riding through South America. I mention the trip to my friend Zaki in passing on a ride, and he insists that I do the ride on the bike he designed: a Qunafa — a titanium do-it-all bike whose details he obsessed over for years (more on the bike in another post). Like Zaki and me, the Qunafa frame has a rich history: designed in San Francisco, manufactured in Asia, first ridden in Sicily. I’m still in the middle of building it, as you can see in the photos.

Anywho, the bike needed a name.

I have a thing about naming vehicles. Our black car is Salem. My scooter is Greebo, named after a one-eyed cat from Discworld. My (other) touring/commuting bike is Bagheera. My gravel bike is Shere Khan, king of the jungle. My road bike is named Drifter, after my friend Ann's cat (RIP). If you're noticing a pattern, yes — they're all cats.

A few weeks ago, our cousin Nabil was in town, and I was telling him the honeymoon story, the naming theme, and about my plan to ride south. He put 1+1+1 together and drew the obvious conclusion.

Quccimelo.

The Q for Qunafa. The double-C is a nod to the Qunafa's Sicilian heritage. The name is an homage to a cat who rode from Mexico to Ecuador (and beyond) in a basket on a bike.

Here's the thing I keep coming back to: Sana and I did eventually make it to Patagonia. We went the following year, and it was everything we'd hoped for. But the detour, the missed flight, the spontaneous pivot to Ecuador, and that hostel near Quilotoa, all gave us something the original itinerary never could have. And now, in a roundabout way, it's given me a bike name and a small piece of philosophy to carry into this ride.

Plans fall apart. Go anyway. Figure it out when you land.

Quccimelo and I leave in June.