He sailed to the Arctic, then folded his way home
4,000 km from the North Cape to Brussels, on a bike with 20-inch wheels.
Some people plan a holiday. Ziggy planned a homecoming the long way round.
In March 2025, Zeger Dox (Ziggy to everyone, @ziggydee to the internet) sent us a message with a problem and a dream tangled together. He wanted to sail to the North Cape and cycle home to Brussels. One catch: "I can't bring my bike on the boat. Unless it folds."
That's where we came in.
His Instagram looks like a lost issue of vintage National Geographic. Climbing, sailing, camping, the kind of trips that leave scars, harsh tanlines, and stories you tell for years. So we knew this wasn't going to be a gentle spin along a canal.
Five days before departure, Ziggy picked up his A-MAX with an Alfine 8 hub from our HQ. We took him to Bike Republic Evere, who kitted him out with repair gear, long-distance advice, and a properly fitted saddle. Custom decals from Reflective Berlin, frame bags from Dosh Gear. He'd just quit his job to make room for more adventures. Full hands, twinkly eyes, and a plan that was simple but vast:
Phase 1. Sail from Tromsdaltinden to Svalbard. Phase 2. Cycle home to Brussels. Phase 2a. Follow the Scheldt by stand-up paddle. Why not?
First, the easy part: five trains and a duffel bag
Before any sailing, Ziggy had to get to the start. That meant five trains: Brussels to Cologne, Cologne to Hamburg, Hamburg to Stockholm, Stockholm to Narvik, and one last leg to Tromsø.
This is the part folding bike sceptics never quite picture. A full duffel of expedition gear, a sleeper train, and a bike that tucked away neatly above his bunk. No bike reservation. No drama. Easy luggage. The trip hadn't even started and Max had already earned its keep.
As Ziggy put it after his first ride, somewhere between apprehensive and hooked: he'd "fold in love."
Svalbard is where most adventures end. His was just starting.
Ziggy sailed up to Svalbard, which, for most cyclists, is the finish line. When he unfolded the bike to clip on his bags, people were already congratulating him.
He was barely getting going.
From there he rolled down to Lofoten and along the Norwegian coast, banking the kilometres and the kind of light you only get that far north. About a month later, he folded Max again and slid it below deck on the same sailboat, this time bound for the northern tip of Scotland. Hop on board, drop off in Scotland, unfold, ride on.
The explorer Heinz Stücke once said a bike is a passport. On a folding bike, Ziggy reckons that doubles. People see you doing something a little bit crazy and it switches on their own adventurous side. They offer food, shelter, a corner of the garden to pitch a tent. The unexpected format melts hearts, quietly insisting that anything is possible. (What they don't realise is the bike is genuinely perfect for it.)
A 20-inch bike walks into a Scottish gran fondo
Crossing Britain north to south, the competitive streak flared up. A friend was riding the Bà Sportive, a 145 km gran fondo through the Highlands, so Ziggy simply turned up at the start line. Loaded touring bike, 20-inch wheels, no plan. People thought he was mad.
He posted his most climbing ever and his best time, and won over the Scottish cycling crowd in the process.
It wasn't the first time Max surprised the carbon-and-lycra set. Earlier in the trip, a pack of road riders dropped him on a climb, then watched him fly past them on the descent, all that touring weight turning into pure downhill momentum.
The home straight: a Channel crossing, a river, and 35 kg held overhead
By late September, Ziggy reached the south coast of England. He folded up once more and crossed the Channel with Saillink, a human-scale ferry project, because of course the man riding home from the Arctic wasn't about to take a normal boat.
Then came his final trick: a two-day stand-up paddle down the Scheldt from its source, with a friend. Adventure being adventure, it was cut short. A sepsis infection meant a hospital stop in Ghent for his paddling partner. Ziggy, undeterred, got back on the bike.
We met him in Antwerp. Leaner, tan, longer hair, and a freshly chipped tooth, a souvenir from a fall in Norway. A little peloton of three formed to close the loop: Alix from our marketing team, and Sara van Vliet (@cafedebedstee), a cyclist and artist who'd done the same trip in the opposite direction. Together they rode the last leg to Ahooga HQ in Anderlecht.
The arrival was joyful. We weighed the full setup, bike, gear, bags, the lot, at over 35 kg. Heavy. Not heavy enough to stop Ziggy hoisting the whole thing above his head in triumph.
A few celebratory beers in the warehouse, then a proper carb-load at his favourite pasta place. We toasted the ride, the people, the kilometres. Somewhere over the pasta, the sheer scale of it landed on all of us.
What a ride, Ziggy. Welcome home.
Why a folding bike for this?
Here's the thing we love about Ziggy's trip: nothing about it was a compromise.
Max isn't a folding bike that struggles to keep up on the open road. It's a full-size bike that happens to fold, built around our patented hingeless double-triangle frame for the stiffness and comfort of a "real" bike, with the folding convenience that turned trains, sailboats and ferries into part of the route rather than obstacles to it.
Easy to store. Easy to combine. Easy to live with. Whether "living with it" means a Brussels apartment and a Tuesday commute, or a month along the Norwegian coast.
Most Max riders won't paddle down a river or gatecrash a Scottish gran fondo. But the same engineering that carried Ziggy 4,000 km is the engineering waiting for you on your next station change, weekend escape, or ride to the office.
The best way to understand it is to ride one. Find your nearest Ahooga dealer, book a test ride, and see how quickly you fold in love.
Photography and full story: Ahooga eMag, Issue N°2.
Follow Ziggy's adventures at @ziggydee.