Damn the bloody Queen

First off: apologies dear reader as I have forsaken my duties over the past month and it has not been due to lack of cycling related activity. A quick synopsis -

Rapha ride - rode it (what a nice chap Dan Craven is)

Herne Hill velodrome - pledged to save it (£50, actually)

Chasing Legends - watched it (preferred Overcoming)

Bicycle Store - discovered it (that's what a city bike store should be)

14 Bike Company - revisited it (oh dear - what went wrong?)

Rapha Softshell - acquired it (don't ask)

PM - crashed it

So you'll see it's been a busy few weeks and the more alert of you will note the last item on the list. Yes, I have to report that I have experienced my first tumble on the urban commute. A right bloody pain in more ways than one as it was a very wet, dark and windy evening on Friday and despite telling myself I was being all 'Flandrian' by deciding to ride home in it I wish I had taken the less wet option of taking the train.

The incident occurred in probably the most famous and poorest lit part in the whole of London town - right outside Buckingham Palace. What is it with these royals? Not only is the Mall and Birdcage walk a pitch black abyss but so too is the little cut through St James Park - Marlborough Road. I can't imagine that Liz, Phil, Chuck and Cam all sit on their DFS La z boys in their respective front rooms thinking 'Bloody Hell, those street lamps are glaring out my plasma' or do they?

Anyway, darkness and rain contributed to the fact that I was side swiped off onto the asphalt with an annoying 'God, I could have swerved that it I had had an extra second' feeling. Driver was honest and contrite, witness was helpful and happy to witness, head, arm, hip and ankle were bloody sore. Of course it's hard to assess the damage in pitch darkness but once I had regained composure and got the driver details I had a quick look - front brake cable had popped out (I popped it back in - rather proud of myself (it's true)), bottle cage was mangled (I bent it back into shape and replaced my crest-fallen bidon and in true Flandrian style I rode home - Johan who?

Next day a quick inspection revealed the PM to be totally unscathed - what a machine. I had not been so luck - road rash, a potholed elbow, cracked helmet (but not head) and sore ankle went to show that I took the bullet for the PM on that rainy night in London town.

However, the story endeth not. After a Saturday spent in the lone company of Futurestar (it get's to a point where he can scream as much as he likes and throw his bloody food all over the place if he won't eat it as far as I'm concerned) I awoke on Sunday with a very sore rib cage. A trip to the bathroom and a near faint confirmed I ought take myself off to A&E for a once over. As I waited (and waited, and waited) to be seen I was approached by a friendly young chap who had a look of 'Hello, mate' on his face that was so convincing I found myself scrambling the memory for who, where, when and why. It turned out that I didn't know him from Adam but he was working for a production company making a documentary about the hospital (sorry, forgot to say that it was Kings, Camberwell - birthplace of Futurestar (no blue plaque I noticed)) for Channel 4 - would I ming being filmed and wearing a radio mic. I played it cool ('What, me? On telly? Me? Telly? On it?, Me? etc, etc) and strapped the mic on quicker than a Colombian supergrass. After waiting and waiting some more (had the telly people told the doctors to make me wait until I erupted in a rage thus giving them something more juicy to film? I held my nerve, reader) I went into the booth and was stretched prodded and manipulated to check all was in tact and indeed it was so panic over. As a precaution the nurse (male - nice chap - probably on his best behaviour for the telly) took my pulse and blood pressure. Here is the best bit - when taking my pulse he actually said 'Wow', yes, 'Wow' followed by 'I wish I had a heart rate like that'. At that moment I could not help but smile at the camera - what an athlete I thought to myself and now the whole watching world will know it too (watch out for the programme - it airs in the spring apparently).

As if to top it off he then proceeded to dress my elbow wound with proper dressing and one of those fishnetty bandage things just like the pro's wear (as I pointed out to him), no doubt my childish glee at said dressing will also be caught on camera for all to see (and mock).

So, I have been a busy boy, haven't I?

Lest we forget

Sometimes as a blogger the well is dry and sometimes one's cup runneth over.

Today is a case of the latter with 3 things that I could wax lyrical about - the World Championships (chapeau Thor - as your speed has diminished your guile has increased), The Ride of the Falling Leaves (yes, I made it through the rain) and the Herne Hill cycle jumble.

Whilst I will return to the ROTFL later on this week (hopefully) I thought today's post had to be dedicated to the cycle jumble. I love it, a true haven for the geek, loner and occasional loon (I guess I must fall into one of the categories as I always go to them when they are on). However, sometimes in life you come across a loon so magnifique that you simply have to stand aghast at his sheer balls out, fuck you lunacy. So, behold the below (it was that good that I didn't want to show you at the start of the post which makes this somewhat unique in the history of this blog)



In case you can't quite read it (or believe your eyes) it simply reads -

'Dura Ace but Pearl Harbour must never be forgotten'

I feel I risked my life to take that picture (or at least my beloved does) but sure you will agree that this is the non plus ultra of cycling loons.

The long and winding road

Next weekend is my season's goal (actually it's the only one I've had this season). It doesn't involve a long flight to Geelong, more a gentle roll down the hill to Herne Hill velodrome (save it!) where awaits the start line of The Ride of the Falling Leaves.

Whilst I have no illusions that I will better last years phenomenal 18th place (3hrs 40mins - it is my finest hour BAR NONE) I do still want to make a decent stab at it and attain gold standard (4hrs). Therefore I have been trying hard to stick to a training plan (if you call eating dried fruit and doing a few extra laps of Regents Park a training plan) in order to get race fit. Today was my last long spin before I 'taper' (love it - so pro!) which involved a demi-recce of the actual course.

Now, there has always been one hill on the course (which is also on my regular ride route) that I have hated - I'm sure we all have one and Hang Grove Hill is without doubt mine. It has a long sweeping descent to it's approach which before most hills would be a joy were it not for the pot-holed, Zipp-rattling, lumpy run of tarmac that forms it. I live in constant fear of a snapping fork or a Voigtesque face plant. Then begins the climb - equally pot-holed and grippier than Futurestar when he doesn't want to get in the swimming pool (ouch!).

So, imagine my utter, utter elation today as I steeled myself after successfully negotiating the descent. Ahead of me lay not a pot-holed ascent but a black, liquorice strip of sheer heaven. Hang Grove Hill has been resurfaced and is beautiful. It's made the pain so, so enjoyable that it has now become my favourite leg burner in a transformation last seen when Jesus turned the water into wine - and oh what a vintage! Roll on next Sunday.

*Photo for illustration purposes - if I got off to take an actual pic I would never have gotten back on

Are you sitting comfortably?.........

.....then (despite my beloved's protestations) I will begin.

Over the past months I have fussed and fretted like the Cannibal on a cannabis come down about my riding position and resultant sore lower back. I have measured every limb and inside leg, put saddle fore, aft, up and down and all to seemingly little success. I contacted a bike fitter only for him to tell me he had been thrown out of his workshop and couldn't help - he was cheap as it appears am I when it comes to spending money on something that actually could stop me from walking like a 98 year old rice farmer for the rest of my life. I took the matter no further.

Then, whilst riding back from work the other week it dawned on me to take radical action. I share this with you dear reader (or at least the slightly more hirsute of you) as it is my duty as a frank and cuttingly insightful scribe to do so. I took razor (electric, of course) to a certain part of my anatomy that does not oft see the light of day. Let's simply say that I don't know the anatomical name for it but the Maltese have a word for it and that word (forgive me if spelt incorrectly) is widgormi (aka biffin). At first I was tentative as once done there would be no going back for fear of constantly fidgeting but oh what a difference! There sheer comfort of not having the feeling that ones derrieiur is on fire after an hour in the saddle has completely distracted me from my backache - it's genius, simple, eppilated genius, chamois creamed genius.

So, to celebrate and really take this discovery to the max I have invested in a lovely new Prologo Pro Scratch Ti and a pair of Assos F1 Mille shorts - I am in absolute pedal-perched Nirvana.

Now - if only I can think of the best place to shave to stop the ache of rocking Futurestar to sleep.

Brightening up a ride on the bus

I had a rest day today. Always a pain as it means spending £8.60 on a travelcard and then spending the day knowing I have to face the scrum of Oxford Circus in the evening (they may have made it look like Shibuya but in Shibuya they have about 300 entrances to the station instead of the 2 that are currently in operation here!).

Today was an added stress as the trains were cancelled meaning a bus journey to Brixton was thrown into the commute bargain. So, imagine my glee as I sat on the top deck and looked out to see Team Garmin Transitions (I’m Tyler Farrar…..) cruising down the road. Not something that you see in the Brixton rush hour traffic every day.

Oh how I wished I had been on the PM – I imagined myself pulling up alongside, tapping the window, being handed a sticky bidon by a trusty soigneur and completing my journey to work. One can but dream

Au revoir Laurent

For the past couple of weeks I have been rounding off my evening by reading a chapter or 2 of 'We were young and carefree', the autobiographical account of Laurent Fignon's career. So yesterday's sad news of his death made reading a little more poignant as I arrived at the chapter about the twilight of his career.

Whilst (and sadly I am no exception here) many write of his 8 second Le Tour loss to Greg Lemond, you have to chapeau! the man in a grande way for his palmares and also for what he brought to the sport. As a poseur I think he is up there with some of the very best in terms of having a totally individual style - those glasses, that hair - c'est chic n'est-ce pas?

There's no denying that he was an awkward man to deal with and, like all greats, had an ego and a sense of what he deemed to be correct to match his stature as a rider. Read the book - he doesn't always come across as the sort of person you would lend your bidon to but it's still a great read (and it also makes me desparate for an English book about The Badger).

I luuurve dee caaaaayke

When a blogger is Downe, when a cyclist is blue he get's in his car and what does he do?

He drives through the lanes and for his sanity's sake, he stops at a tea shop and has a nice cake.

And what a lovely cake it was (it would have to be to move me to poetry). Many times I have ridden through the sleepy village of Downe and, together with contemplating the origin of the species I have also contemplated what the cake shop might be like. So, with little motivation to ride on a dull and drizzly Saturday my beloved and I strapped in futurestar and headed to Cake in Downe.

What an absolute delight - friendly staff that looked as if they cooked (and ate) with love cheerily talked through the daily delights. Beloved went for a classic Victoria sponge (light, fluffy, perfect balance of cream and jam) whilst I 'plum'-ped for the warm plumb crumble cake ('freshly picked from the garden) - it was utterly heavenly. All washed down with a pot of tea whilst we sat in the window watching the wheelers cruise by as many a customer will have done to me.

Please go - you won't be disappointed.

A little bit dicey

Sadly by the time you probably read this post it will be irelevant but I'll carry on typing in this knowledge.

I have just spent the last 14 minutes watching 'A Throw of the Dice' which is one of Rapha's attempts to elevate the sport into an art form. Now, whilst they have undoubtedly elevated the sport and the clothing I think it's fair to say that they have probably gone a little bit further than they needed to with this cinematic offering.

If you read this post before midnight tonight (I think, although their website says 12.00am on Saturday 14th August which means that it should have actually ended about 14 hour ago) then you too can have the privilege of a 'preview' of the Nick Livesey directed guff.

The subject is great - the tale of the Lion of Flanders himself - but the intercut scenes of war and poetic prose is, quite frankly, utter, utter crap and totally overrides (no pun intended) the great footage and narrative of the Lion himself.

So, Mr Motram et al, I implore you, get a grip and keep doing what you are doing but please don't disappear too far up your own Arenbergs. Merci

Picture courtesy of Nick Livesey / RSA films (I hope they don't mind after what I've said)

The wonderfully Weekly

Long term readers of this blog will know that I have a contempt for a certain Weekly Cycling magazine (I'm not going to tell you which one of course). It's not simply the fact that it hoiks it's price up before during and after Le Tour or even the often pithy editorial comments. It's just that it's a bit stuck in the 80's and continues to have the irritating us and them attitude about those that pedal and those that don't (get over it!).

However, I'll be the first to admit that I by it religiously and almost as religiously I laugh at it's gaffs. And this week's is so good that I feel the need to transcribe -

Page 30

WIN a signed team Sky jersey and Gatorade hydration pack!

Gatorade, the world’s most researched sports drink, has recently become a key supporter of cycling in the UK, becoming the official nutrition partner to Team Sky, British Cycling and the Great Britain Cycling Team. Gatorade is also fuelling the Sky Ride programme – a series of mass participation cycling events which aim to get one million more people cycling regularly each month across the UK.

Gatorade has been fuelling Team Sky at the tour this year and prior to the race have been working with Team Sky’s Nutritionist, Nigel Mitchell to ensure the team have the best products, means of delivery and support, including support from Dr Ian Rollo of the Gatorade Sports Science institute.

To mark Gatorade’s work with Team Sky and their phenomenal efforts during the Tour de France, Gatorade have teamed up with Cycling Weekly to offer one lucky reader the chance to win a signed Team Sky tour jersey signed by the entire tour team and all British riders, as well as a Gatorade Hydration Pack and Team Sky TT bottle and carbon fibre bottle cage.

To enter simply answer the following question

Who is Team Sky’s team nutritionist?

* Dr Ian Rollo
* Nigel Mitchell
* Bradley Wiggins


Now, all pretty straightforward and I have to say very tempting. Now for the punchline - where might one send their entry for said SKY competition I wonder? Well, and no word of a lie (it's in print) -

Cervelo Test team competitions entries, Leon House, 233 High Street, Croydon, CR9 7HZ

Genius!! (I'll let you know if I win)

The ride of my life

At about half four yesterday I got a text from Dan to alert me to a BBC4 programme that was being shown in the evening called The Ride of My Life.

Normally with telly about the things that you hold dear they can be a let down - I wouldn't have done that, you don't do it like that and so on and so forth. But I have to say that within the space of one hour Rob Penn made one of the best cycling related bits of television I have ever seen.

The premise is that he is building his dream bike and travelling the world to find the dream kit for it but, whilst doing this, he also manages to give a potted history of the bike from it's inception right up to today. Every single thing he picks up on from a Chris King headset (got one) to a Campag groupset (check) all the way to riding with the original Marin County mountain bikers (one for Dan) is spot on.

If you missed it thank your lucky stars for the iplayer.

Chapeau Monsieur Penn, chapeau Le Beeb et chapeau Dan for the heads up

Don't say it's over

It simply wasn't the same tonight - coming home, bouncing futurestar around until I got fed up with him (only jesting my dear) and then flicking on ITV4 in the knowledge that, even though it was on, it wasn't really on - it was over.

It's been a great 3 weeks but a little tainted due to my woefully poor blog to stage ratio. So, rather than go back to my usual colour scheme, I am going to keep the magic alive by sharing a few more pics of the mini road trip.

First up what was probably the best stage in many, many years - the road to Roubaix. Enjoy as much as we did. Sigh.


Ryder on the storm


Rabobank take up the pace


Proof that Team Sky did actually do something!

The shame of it

This is not the scheduled post but, even though it pains me, I feel I must share it with my loyal reader.

Tonight, whilst cycling home on my usual route, I cruised up towards Denmark Hill and timed my run up just right to catch the change of lights and pass the fellow pedalistas waiting at the lights (a trick that never fails to satisfy). As I did my best 'Schleck in the saddle' pose up the hill I was aware of a passenger on my tail and gave a little glimpse over my shoulder to spy the wheelsucker. No sooner had I done so than said sucker pulled up alongside me to compliment me on my bike and it's wonderful carbon fibredness (I should point out that due to futurestar's constant infringement on 'me' time I have taken to treating myself to a weekly ride to work on the Colnago lest it think that I am neglecting it).

Now, back to the point. Being complimented on one's 2 wheeled loveliness is not a bad thing I hear you cry and, yes, you're right. However, being complimented by somebody as you are on the steepest part of the hill and giving it your best Schleckism (seated don't forget) and said complimenteur is RIDING A FUCKING BMX!!!! is not so nice. He wasn't even puffing - the precocious little shit. What made it doubly bad was that he had been trackstanding (oh, how I wish I could) at the lights - he'd caught me from a standing start!

Naturally I exchanged pleasantries and then cruised away with an inward grimace and my tail so firmly between my legs that I could feel it chaffing.

Oh, the shame of it!

Image from chrispeters.com

Regardez mon booty

Warning - this post is not about my Beyoncé-like posterior (sorry to disappoint)

Le Tour does seem to bring out a myriad of emotions in a grown man. From the fist pumping, screaming fool that fleetingly showed on Eurosport (we stood by a distinctive tree on the Tilloy les Marchiennes section of pavé so that I would have the best chance of seeing myself on the telly - it worked!) to the tongue tied pit lane loiterer at the Wanze départ.

However, all of these characteristics pale in comparison when it comes to the tat obsessed thug that wants to claim every single piece of jetsom from the caravan. Large PMU foam hand - I NEED IT! Cheap floppy Skoda hat - GIVE IT TO ME! FdJ jersey - I BEG YOU YOUNG TEENAGE PROMOTIONS GIRL, THROW IT TO ME NOT THE 8 YEAR OLD BOY WITH ONE LEG (he'd never get the use out of it like I would). So a hearty couple days worth of leaping, pouncing, elbowing and snatching resulted in a rather large pile of tat that, when in Rome, brought me a great deal of satisfaction but, when in home, made me wonder why I have added to the growing mound of tentatively cycling related 'memorabilia' that I am amassing. And I don't even want to start on the new addiction I have to Haribo liquorice.

Here's what I got -


This constituted a nice late lunch.........


....always support les flics........


.......utterly pointless 'pop out' disks seemed all the rage this year......


.......these are the uninflated clackers that always look as if they are going to hit a sprinter full in the face at 70km/h........


.......chapeau le tat!

My mate Jonny

What a day's racing. Adieu Lance, it's time to move on. As for Andy - Schlecktastic, can we dream of yellow? Anyway, high on the altitude of it all I logged on to facebook to see if I had any friends and low and behold there was Jonny on chat (Jonny to me, Mr Bellis to you mortals). At this point I should confess that I have been trying to collect cyclists as friends and have had moderate success which I will try and tap into for future posts. Well, thinks I, no time like the present to have any impromptu bit of 'pro talk' and this is how it went (with what I was thinking in brackets -

5:01pm Me
what a stage!! au revoir Lance - but a shame about Wiggo (READ AS - 'Hello Jonny, please talk to me)

5:02pm Jonny
yep, didn't think wiggins would do anything like he did last year so no surprise there

5:03pm Me
no, but 8 minutes? to be honest he has looked miserable the whole week. Should have been a DS this year (READ AS - my God he's answered me and I need to keep this going - throw in a little pro talk like DS and he'll think I'm a pro too!)

5:04pm Jonny
yeh, oh well.. still a chance for a stage win

5:06pm Me
mmmm.....doubtful in my opinion. too many good riders and I don't think he has got the legs for the mountains anymore, unlike your team mate - classy ride (READ AS - err, I'm still talking about Lance here)

5:07pm Jonny
yes i know that.. there is always the breakaways or tt `s

5:08pm Me
we'll see . hope the next two weeks are as good as this one. hope you are continuing to get stronger too. have a good evening (READ AS - look mate , if you won't talk about Lances 'defaillance' I'm off - futurestar is getting fussy and I simply don't have the time to talk at cross purposes)

5:09pm Jonny
yep we will.. cheers (READ AS - is this the royal we?)

Anyway, hopefully we'll chat again and be on the same page but I did notice that he hasn't put anything on his blog about me - maybe next time?

(pic courtesy of bikeradar.com)

La belle de Spa

She stands 'sur la balconette' with an air of mystery. La belle de Spa what secrets do you know, what places have you seen, what fantasies do you dream? (don't answer that last one please)

Here are a few other pictures of the natives (from Spa and Wanze) for your delectation


Standing on the balcony they could see something approaching.........


...so they called the priest........


...who called the armed guard.......


...to protect them against the Gros Gourmand de Wanze.

Cav makes his mark (finally!)

Here are a few pics of the man and the machine taken before the start of the epic stage from Wanze to Arenberg. What a day, what a trip. So much to say and no time (yet) to say it. Keep checking in as things will be appearing over the next few days / weeks telling the tale and showing the evidence of another brilliant 48 hours of Le Tour.

And, whilst he may have blown his chance of green the outpouring of emotion after today's victory just goes to show that he's not complacent. Chapeau Cav!


The bike...........


the feet..........


the man.

Le jour est venu, encore

Procycling guide - check (the best - end of)

Cycling weekly - check (comparing the favourites to fish? it's simply not funny)

Eurosport installed - check (she's not happy)

Camera charged - check (I will continue to try)

Car insured - check (good boy)

Directions printed out - check (as if it will help)

Hotel in Wanze booked - check (well, about 3km outside to be truthful)

Well, in that case IT'S TOUR BABY, IT'S TOUR.

The Correspondent and I will be heading to Spa, Wanze and Arenberg to witness first hand what is possibly the most exciting ever early stages of Le Tour. As with Barcelona pics will surely flow but until then content yourselves with my little mini makeover - yellow for Contador, green for Cav, red and white for a Schleck and white for....who knows (Martin?, Fugslang?)

L'amener!

A poor workman blames his tools

As you know, a couple of Saturdays ago saw the now annual pilgrimage to Smithfield to watch the (ever improving) Nocturne. As you all know the folding bike race became yet another Hendernator procession but I do now think that the Elite race could do with stepping up a gear to attract a more international entry level rather than simply being another national level crit with the odd (HTC sponsored) guest rider.

Anyway the point of this post is that Dan joined me and my Grupetto amici to enjoy the racing and like me he packs a Canon G10 as his preferred choice of snapper. However, unlike me he knows how to use the bloody thing (a combination of skill, training and bothering reading instructions that I do not and simply never will bother doing). So behold a selection of his really rather decent pics. Another chapeau! methinks.

In the words of Lionel - 'Cos you're once, twice, three times a winner

On a blustery June evening in central London one man stood alone (outside a pub) awaiting his destiny. When the time came that man did not fail. He stood tall, ran fast and unfolded with the rapidity of a Ninja origamist. Holding steady his nerve he sat in the wheels with a beady eye trained on his prey - yet another Dahon folding bike. What was before the start a distant dream became a brilliant reality as Keith "The Hendernator' Henderson stormed to his third victory (a threePete as a certain Mr Sampras often said) in the Smithfield Nocturne Folding Bike Race with almost embarrassing ease.

Chapeau mon brave, chapeau, chapeau, chapeau!


To the victor the spoils

This time it's serious

June is upon us and that means that the Smithfield Nocturne will soon be upon us too - it's the one night of the year that we all gather to marvel at the spectacle whilst wondering why it is always so bloody cold despite it being close to what 'they' call mid Summer.

Of course, yours truly does have a vested interest in proceedings thanks to links with arguably this country's greatest all round cyclist - Keith Henderson (aka Cadence Man / The Hendernator). Who else can hold down a full time job and a family whilst still managing to ride a 6.08 time in the Dragon Ride (check the stats - that is good), be runner up in the national Rolapolluza finals and be twice winner of the Smithfield Nocturne folding bike race - THE MAN IS A MACHINE!

In recognition of his growing palmares the kind people at Dahon (and I say this without a drop of seething envy, I really do) have loaned him their latest pride and joy - the MU-EX. What a piece of kit - superlight, superfast (Sram RED!!) and superstyling make this possibly the ultimate in folding bike porn for those who can afford the £2099 price tag.

Will the man become one with the machine? Find out on the 19th June

Meet the family

Now, needless to say I am pinning my hopes on a career in cycling via the vicarious route of futurestar. Of course it does help that he already has the genetic advantages of my outstanding athletic prowess (sadly laid dormant for too many years and now so clogged in cobwebs that it must be resigned to the 'what might have been' folder of cycling history) and his mother's calm, calculating nature (read that as quietly cut-throat). What also helps as I have recently discovered is that his genetic routes stem to a cycling champion - great granddad (deceased) Charlie Powis. How I would love to say that he was my blood, indeed how I could say this if it wasn't for my solemn oath of journalistic integrity. The fact is that he comes from the other side, the cockney mafia that is my beloved's family.

So, behold these recently unearthed pictures of the man in his prime, circa 1930's, racing, winning and posing (even if we're not blood we still share a common bond in 'le department poseur') at Herne Hill velodrome (DON'T LET IT DIE!!!).

I've said it before and no doubt I will say it many, many more times again, futurestar was born to do it.

Why do I do it?

Behold the latest upgrade - the Garmin Edge 500 (with cadence and heart rate, bien sur). I read about it, looked at it, read about it some more and then decided to buy it after finding the best internet price and getting Cycle Surgery to match it - the best way to buy for those of us who like to physically rather than virtually spend our pennies.

Of course the appeal was the myriad of functions and GPS capabilities (and my inner grimpeur simply MUST know it's gradients) but the reality is that in order to access the myriad one must read the instructions. Alas this is the fundamental flaw in the interface between product and this particular consumer - I HATE READING INSTRUCTIONS. Why can't it just do what I know it can do without me have to ask it??!!

And so it sits patiently on my handlebars awaiting it's first outing and downloading (I have already forgotten my Garmin website password) whereupon I will realise that I already know where I have ridden (how else would I have gotten home?) and that the signs at the top and bottom of each hill can already tell me the gradient.

Will I ever learn?

Eyes as red as the rising sun

A tired post today as I have just returned from a 3 day trip to Tokyo and, even though the sun is shining, don't think I will be turning a pedal today - knackered.

One thing I love about Japan is their cycling culture - totally utilitarian and even the youngest children have bike handling skills that put me to shame as they dodge and weave around the masses (you do get the feeling that we are no better than ants when walking the streets of Shibuya) who busily make their way to wherever. As you'd expect with a nation that keeps a foot in both tradition and the future their is a colossal array of bike styles to ogle and 2 that caught my eye are the classic Vigore brand from Kyoto and the more futuristic commuter styling of Helmz (made by Bridgestone tyres don't-you-know). Both equally cool in their own ways.

Velly intelesting

Raphacaph - the perfect place to watch Cadel on the Strada Bianchi

My beloved fancied a jaunt east to Broadway Market this weekend so the trade off for an hour in urban traffic and mingling with Hackney fixie clones was that we would visit one of the 2 new cycling cafes that have opened up - Look Mum No Hands and the Rapha Clubhouse.

So, after she'd had her wish granted (and I'd had had an amazing black pudding scotch egg) we drove back west and, after driving past L.M.N.H. the decision was made to go to Rapha and save the former for another day ('too many men' was the comment made in my ear as we drove down Old Street - read this as 'geek alert').

Now I make no bones about the fact that I have a love hate relationship with Rapha (as do many if my experience of the snippy comments made to my Rapha wearing friend at last year's Dragon Ride are anything to go by). It does have the image of being elitist city boy clobber but at the same time it is undoubtedly the most well thought out and best quality both in terms of the kit and the way it is presented to the customer.

So, what would the cafe be like? Well, quite simply it is the most well thought out and best quality place you can visit to sip a coffee and watch the Giro. The attention to detail from the top tube inspired picture rail to the pink-papered daily stage reports in the toilet (beats Swisher shooting anytime) is brilliant as is the plethora of magazines and books that are strewn across the communal table for all to thumb as the sip a 'first one is free' flat white.

As with all Rapha things places and events there is always one or two employees who are a little too cool for school but on the whole the place is genuinely welcoming with a 'stay-as-long-as-you-like' atmosphere that means it won't be the last time I visit (not least to have a better look at the Il Campionissimo exhibition downstairs).

However, there is no way that I can finish this post without 2 chapeaus. The first to Cadel for winning what has to be one of the best grand tour stages ever (mud, rain, cobbles - Flanders in Tuscany). And the second to my beloved who selflessly waited in the car for 30 minutes after Futurestars decision to kick-off whilst I watched the end of what I knew would be a historic days racing. Yes, I felt guilty but not THAT guilty. The reason being that in a strange quirk of fate the stage finished in Montalcino - the very same Montalcino that, on a holiday to Tuscany a few years ago, I had earmarked as being the 'monument' place to visit for it's wine credentials only for said beloved to spend the whole visit moaning she felt sick and thoroughly ruining the day - kismet, my darling, kismet.

The Sunday best

Well, I had it all worked out this weekend - my beloved had arranged to treat me to a massage on Saturday and she was having her friend over on Sunday that meant I was free to go off and have a lovely long ride into the Surrey hills. Bliss awaited.

All week I was quietly dreaming of a blonde masseuse gently pummelling me into submission whilst I drifted off to the scent of lavender and, indeed it was a wonderful 90 minutes of relaxation only (a little) spoilt by the fact that the blonde turned out to be dark, and about 4 feet tall - it was like having a squirrel scuttling around me from shoulder to toe, little claws n'all.

On top of this a bit of over excitement a the Oval traffic lights on Friday resulted in a buggered left knee - no blonde on Saturday, no ride on Sunday - damnation!

So, after a lovely Greek roast chicken (believe me this is the ONLY way to roast a chicken - the most low maintenance, high flavour yielding recipe known to man) and a particularly nice bottle of claret (Chateau Larose-Trintaudon, 2001, actually) I thought I would leave the ladies cooing over futurestar and give my 3rd love some attention with a bucket, sponge and degreaser.

I have to say that I F@$%ING LOVE THIS BIKE! To me it is perfection and I feel that I should show it off to you dear reader as I have only ever mentioned it in passing rather than allowed you to bask in it's beauty.

Now, the first thing you will notice is, no doubt, the wheels - yes, they are Zipp 303's - the very same wheels I bleated on about endlessly in 2009. They are both a living symbol of my slack blogging and also a living symbol of my reckless attitude to the financial responsibilities of fatherhood. I apologise for not telling you earlier (and to futurestar for blowing his inheritance). Next you will note the classic geometry of the frame - Extreme C - it's perfection not only because it is simple but also because fatties are unable to sully it's beauty due to a rider weight limit (90kg). All of this is kitted with Campag Record (who needs 11 gears), ITM bars and seatpost topped off with a Prologo saddle.

However, if you think I'm bragging a bit too much click here for the non plus ultra of bike braggers - chapeau mon braggeur (well, he is from Jersey)

Introducing Ciocc bikes new UK distributors

Loyal readers will remember the sad tale of the Correspondent and his tragic loss, the little ridden Eurofighter, only a few months ago. Now, whilst us mere mortals would likely lick our wounds (well, maybe not if they looked like his) and reconsider our return to the road, the 'C' decided to use his recuperation period to rethink his entire being as a cyclist. Not only did he think about what bike he might next wish to have, but he also, along with his equally spoke-minded brother, decided he would become the UK distributor for that bike.

And so behold the Correspondent and Il Correspondito (his little brother has a bit of a thing about Italy - he even went so far as to marry into 'The Family') are now the official UK distributors for Ciocc bikes. Ciocc (pronounced 'church' I have been slightly patronisingly informed) could well be considered the ultimate in sleeping giants of Italian exotica. With both a rich heritage in cold war racing as well as producing arguably some of the sleekest framesets currently known to man it's quite safe to say that the boys are onto something.

Now, I don't intend for one second to sell-out and whore myself or my blog to these chancers but, if you find yourself with nothing to do on a rainy day, have a little look at their website Grupettoitalia (1 p and 2 t's, Robert) where you can lust at the beauty of it all and, like me , wonder why there is a picture of a cup of cappuccino amongst the carbon, titanium (why Misfit?) and steel (I positively lust after the San Cristobal).

No doubt there will be more tales of their adventures in the weeks to come and, who knows, maybe I'll be tapping out my first review (hint, hint)

Cav - we (2 finger) salute you

Chapeau, Cav - one of the greatest victory salutes in history.

The Double Dib

Whilst it's nice to be back to regular commuting after the shockingly long winter it can be a challenge to keep things interesting when ploughing the same furrow day in day out. This morning I had a memory of when dad used to collect me from school at lunchtime in his bright yellow TR7 (oh how cool to an 8 year old - not least as he had had a black slash stripe sprayed on it which ran across the top of the boot and down either side into an aggressive point. I wonder where I get my carbon fibre pimping fixations from?!). We lived in a remote village on a rolling landscape and the challenge was that he would build up speed on the country lanes until we reached the last down-and-up section to the village when he would slam it into neutral and we would see if we could roll down then up the hill without needing to put it back into gear. Oh the elation when after weeks of trying we (he, really - I was only the co-pilot) managed to do it (though I suspect this was more due to reckless abandon on the final run up than to any form of weight saving and axle greasing).

As ever, I prattle but the point was that I have now found a similar challenge to set myself on my daily commute - the dib. How few times can I put my foot on the ground during the 10 mile ride? I cannot for the life of me track stand and so have to judge the traffic lights - whether to roll up when red in anticipation of the change or do the odd cruise through (a touch of haughty middle class abuse on that one this morning) - and how to judge junctions. The result of my first attempt - 2 dibs!! I am already setting the bar high but intend to get to the zero mark before the summer is over ( which may only give approx. 2 weeks). I wonder if I should try and put a black slash on the PM to help?

PS - TR7 shown for illustration purposes only. We never kept a picture and no doubt the original has corroded to dust by now.