Around the World on a Bicycle, Vol. 1 — Victorian audacity on two wildly uneven wheels

"I mounted my bicycle and rode off into the unknown" — somewhere in the first hour, Thomas Stevens casually drops this line like he's just popping out for groceries instead of becoming the first human to circumnavigate the globe on a penny-farthing. And honestly? That understated audacity is what kept me listening through 22 hours of Victorian adventure, even when the narration made me want to shake my laptop.

Look, I need to be upfront about something. This is a LibriVox production, which means volunteer narrators, which means... inconsistency. Like, a lot of it. One chapter you've got someone reading with genuine enthusiasm, really selling the drama of Stevens crossing the Sierra Nevada in 1884. Next chapter? Monotone city. I found myself designing client logos while half-listening, then suddenly snapping back when a new voice appeared and changed the whole energy.

A Man, A Death Trap, A Dream

Here's the thing about Thomas Stevens — this man was absolutely unhinged in the best way. He decides to bike around the world on a high-wheeler (you know, those ridiculous bikes with the giant front wheel) starting from San Francisco in 1884. No GPS. No support team. Just vibes and Victorian determination.

The descriptions hit different when you realize he's experiencing landscapes most Americans had never seen. His encounters with suspicious farmers, his near-death experiences in mountain passes, the way he writes about small-town hospitality — it feels like reading your great-great-grandfather's most wild travel journal. There's this section where he's riding through rural America and people literally don't believe bicycles exist yet. They think he's some kind of circus performer. I ugly-cried a little, not gonna lie. That same feeling of witnessing someone push past what everyone else thought was possible hit me hard in Becoming. Something about the loneliness of being so far ahead of your time.

Abuela would have been fascinated by this one. She loved stories about people doing impossible things just because they decided to.

The LibriVox Reality Check

Okay, I can't sugarcoat this. Some of the volunteer readers are genuinely charming — you can hear they care about this story. There's a passion there that professional narrators sometimes lack. But others sound like they're reading a grocery list while thinking about what's for dinner.

The inconsistency is the real issue. Just when you're settling into one narrator's rhythm, boom — new chapter, new voice, completely different energy. It's jarring. I had to adjust my expectations and treat it more like a community theater production than a polished audiobook. Once I made that mental shift, it became almost endearing? Like, these are real people who volunteered their time to preserve a piece of history. That's kind of beautiful.

But — and this is a big but — if you need consistent, professional narration to stay engaged, this might drive you up the wall. I listened at my usual 1.0x because I was savoring the historical details, but honestly? Some sections I could've sped up without losing anything.

Your Rainy Sunday Awaits (Or Doesn't)

This is a rainy Sunday book. Or more accurately, a rainy Sunday series of listening sessions, because 22 hours is no joke. Perfect for you if you get excited about historical oddities, want to know what America looked like before cars existed, and can forgive audio imperfections for a genuinely fascinating story. Skip it if narrator inconsistency pulls you out of a book — no shame, it's a real barrier here.

It's free. That matters. Not everyone can drop $20 on audiobooks, and LibriVox is doing something important by making classics accessible. Is it perfect? God no. Is it worth your time if you're curious about adventure travel before adventure travel was a thing? Absolutely.

I kept thinking about how Stevens had no idea he'd become a footnote in history — the first person to do something that seemed impossible. There's something deeply moving about listening to his own words, even filtered through imperfect narration, over a century later.

My Heart Can't Handle This Victorian Madman

MY HEART. This man biked across America on a death trap with a tiny wheel in the back and wrote about it like it was just a fun little adventure. The audacity. The absolute audacity.