Pitter, patter

Pitter, patter, pitter, patter...... No, it's not the sound of tiny feet (as if the boy could walk - he's not even been fitted for his new Colnago yet), it's the sound of rain, constant rain falling during the festive period. Today has to have been the absolute non plus ultra of shitty days with it seemingly never breaking into daylight. There have been only 2 days worthy of a good ride this holiday and both have been preceded by approximately 37 minutes sleep on the night before (why does he sleep all day and then decide it's time to talk at midnight?!). I worry, oh how I worry as I lie awake at night listening to the now 24/7 central heating draining my wallet ('he needs to be warm, dear') that things may never return to normal and that my legs will simply whither away and I will never get out on the road again for anything longer that my 45 minute commute. For this reason and this reason alone, I look forward to next week's return to work and my enthusiastic embrace of winter commuting.

The latest member of the metropeloton

So, finally, there is a new member of the team - Joel. He's a bonny little chap and I'm feeling pretty confident about his two wheeled potential. So far he's mastered the bidon technique, has no qualms about relieving himself whilst in the saddle (or cot, or fathers arms) and, after a brief course of antibiotics, is no stranger to the needle and will therefore be comfortable amongst the 'doctors' of modern cycling. Just between us, my beloved thinks that the name Joel came from a brainwave of cute names but little does she know that it actually comes from one of, if not the most vivid memory of a boyhood watching Le Tour. In 1989 Joël Pelier won a stage of Le Tour and immediately after crossing the line he fell into the arms of a media scrum only to shout 'mon père, mon père' it struck a deep cord and one day I dream that my Joel will cross the line, any line, in victory and cry out for me. Thank you my beloved - a greater gift you could not give x

The Closet Obsessive

It's a common fact that cyclists are an obsessive bunch of freaks at the best of times (latest kit, lightest weight, best eppilation technique etc, etc, etc) and I consider myself to be no different to any other. Well, actually I do consider myself to be slightly more obsessed than your average obsessed obsessive and, if proof were needed, this picture is it. For the last 4 weeks I have toiled, no I HAVE SLAVED over this f**king mdf monolith! For a man who has an issue putting air into his tyres somehow I had the bright idea that I would save money and prove to myself that I was a real man and build a cupboard. So drill, screw, sand, swear, drill again, screw some more (the cycling gloves came in handy to protect my delicate palms), swear, sand, swear, swear, chisel and SWEAR I did until you see what you see today. It's raw (like my nerves) and unpainted but it is solid and I genuinely think it will still be standing next week. And so, at least until the big arrival (Thursday is the due date!) I can now say that I will return to my forte of cynical scribe and never, EVER, pass a Homebase without a chill running down my spine. (PS - I have been up to some cycling stuff, some REAL GOOD cycling stuff, which will be revealed later this week)

The Flandrian cycle to work scheme

There was a negative (what else would you expect?) piece in the Evening Standard this week about how the Velib scheme is being underwritten by disgruntled Parisians due to 8000 being trashed or stolen and another 18000 needing repairs (so that means it's probably more like a third of that figure in truth) and how this would be the same when the scheme is launched in London. I despise (a strong word but chosen with thought and first hand experience) the negative sensationalism of most of today's newspapers - in a city of nearly 12 million people and over 16 million tourist visitors every year it's a pretty low percentage by my reckoning and one well worth paying. However, you do have to wonder where the stolen ones end up so hence the true motive behind today's post. The picture wasn't taken on a trip to Flanders (but oh how I wish it had been), no it was taken in London - it's either somebody who has the world's longest commute or another burden to the Flandrian tax payer.

Designer's bikes

Another (particularly) busy week over and yet again I find myself having not managed a new post for 7 days. Never mind, I'm here now and this week amongst an exhibition opening and a trip to see the local maternity ward (modern and clean but also stuffy and with that classic hospital smell which reminds me of Horlicks made using bleach) I somehow found myself at the Royal Designers for Industry annual shindig (obviously there as a guest rather than on merit). It was a true galaxy of the great, the good and the egocentric of the design world and I thoroughly enjoyed it. One of the reasons for this was that I sat next to one of this country's leading lights in product design, Sam Hecht (or Sam Hecht RDI to give him his official title on the evening). Knowing that I could not bluff my way through dinner by solely speaking about design related topics (which would have most likely got me no further than the bread roll before the starter) I cunningly turned the conversation to cycling and, in particular: was Sam a cyclist? Indeed he was (although he did look a little lost when I mentioned the name Colnago - I ask you!) and I can't tell you how relieved I was to have found some common ground before we'd reached the main course. His bike of choice? The Trek District. One might sigh 'quelle surprise' at this choice as if ever there was a 'designer's' bike then the District has got to be it (in the same way that for a brief period in the mid 90's every designer seemed to ride an Aprilia Moto). However it is undeniably a great looking bike and totally practical for the urban commuter (especially if your commute is from Primrose Hill to Clerkenwell - moi? envious? oui!) being single speed and belt driven - which is something that I cannot understand why more manufacturers are not producing, although I know that a new single speed belt driven Moulton is in the offing (purrrrrrrrrr).

Vive l'Youtube

I don't want to bleat on about it but since the weather turned and the pro season ended I am seriously struggling to put my mind to writing this blog. Partly busy with work, partly preoccupied with a certain forthcoming event (think pink, wrinkly - no, I'm not talking cold weather riding - I'm talking baby!) and partly because I only really want to write about things I have experienced or discovered. Whilst I fight my way out of this general malaise I will try and keep things ticking along with little vignettes and today's takes the form of the great bloggers back-up - Youtube. I have yet to work out how to embed a clip on this site so the link will have to suffice. It's worth clicking on as to me it sums l'humanité française in a nutshell - gruff, nonplussed, barefaced liars (well, perhaps that's a bit harsh but the last guy does make you think) and very, very funny. Merci, Nick.

CLICK HERE FOR EVERY WEEKEND CYCLIST'S DREAM

PS - In the words of Jon Bonjela - Keep the faith - there's life left in the old blog yet

Time to hit the shops (and tidy them up a tad)

Ouch, it's getting cold out there now - a few weekends off the bike and my how things have changed in the temperature department. Whilst it's not quite icicle on the nose type weather it's certainly chilly enough to notice on the tootsies and make me start to think about some new winter kit which, as with any bike related purchasing, fills me with both delight and trepidation. The delight comes from being able to purposefully stalk the internet looking for (what I perceive to be) cool kit, the trepidation comes from the commitment and trust that has to be made when buying clothing on the web. It's nothing to do with credit card fraud, it's simply that unlike mechanical equipment which you know will fit (even if you don't know how you will fit it), you simply haven't got a bloody clue how any cycling clothing is sized which means that you either order the same things in 3 sizes and then lose the benefits of free delivery by spending £20 on sending the wrong sizes back or you take a guess and, if you don't strike it lucky, embark on a relay of return and reorder. Wiser souls might say just to pop along to your local bike shop, try on what you want and then order it cheaper on-line (this method has been brilliantly picked up on by the poster ads for dixons.com - genius!) and I have not been averse to this method for many a purchase both bike and non-bike related (I am still carrying the guilt of 2 free-of-charge hours spent with the Peter Jones 'nursery advisor' helping us compile a list of essentials that we then proceeded to use as a blueprint for what we needed to look for in the, shall we say, less expensive shops). However, the only problem with the try then buy on-line method is that, despite living in a major international city, the selection in nearly every shop is exactly the same - Altura, Endura, a bit of Assos (to give the pretence that they are a 'pro' shop) and now the, sadly-not-as-good-as-I-had-first-thought Mavic and it's all lovingly jammed onto rails on plastic hangers with the care and attention of a closing down sale in Cancer Research. Condor are bravely bucking this trend but surely there is a big enough market in a city of 7 odd million to justify a few more shops with a decent selection and a bit of love shown in the display department?

Ain't got my mojo workin'

I've had a bit of break from the blog over the past week or so. It's not been a conscious decision, simply a result of not having ridden for over 10 days and therefore suffering a complete droop in the blogging mojo department. Like Team GB (and seemingly every other athlete these days regardless of winning or losing) I am trying to focus on the positives and put the negatives behind me. The back is feeling better though by no means back to normal which leaves me with the dread (and expense) of making my first ever visit to a physio and, God forbid, an osteopath. The thought of breathing deeply whilst somebody cracks my body around without the slightest idea of whether it may damage me further and more permanently fill me with total dread (not unlike a few years ago on a trip to Morocco when I went to a 'spa' in the middle of nowhere where a burly masseuse told me to 'reeeelaxxxxx' as he poured paraffin on me and then proceeded to double bend my knees as if they were made of Playdoh - 'reeeelaxxxxx' I did not). Sorry, I digressed from my positivity. I'm rested, relaxed and itching to perch myself on the PM and get back into the groove. Winter riding awaits and, despite the end of the continental season, I'm sure there will be plenty to keep these pages populated for my legion, nay garrison of followers. Keep the faith dear readers - please? pretty please?

Withering away

Harrumph! I've got a right sulk on today. In fact I've had the sulk on since exactly 9.37am on Friday when, after a lovely ride to work, I changed into my civvies and put my back out whilst tying my shoelaces. I haven't done this since my brief foray into the world of the triathlete (we're not talking Ironman here, just the 'sprint' distance which I like to think I could have done had the honeymoon not got in the way and the motivation waned) when I totally buggered it on a morning run. So I spent the weekend abstaining from the bike and even forwent my commute on Monday in an effort to nip it in the bud quickstix. Alas, dear reader, I have now had to spend the last 24hrs at home on the floor in an effort to ease the pain interspersing this torture with hot baths and Deep Heat (quite a pleasant sensation really). I need to get better in preparation for a 4 hour train journey to see the parents on Thursday which, whilst I am delighted to be doing, will mean that it will be AT LEAST 3 WEEKS since I will have been out for a nice long ride and my legs will turn to mush and I will miss this lovely spell of mild weather and I will suffer for the entire winter and things will never, never, be the same ever, ever again! Perhaps I am being melodramatic but God! I hate not being well! Harrumph!

Introducing Zippig

I've tried, GOD KNOWS I HAVE TRIED, to erase the thought of any deep section carbon crossing the threshold and skewering itself onto my pride and joy. But, to paraphrase Kylie, I just can't get them out of my head (sha-na-na). I enjoy thinking about them, I enjoy surfing the internet and stalking e-bay, I enjoy feeling sorry for myself when I can't discover the bargain of the century and, quite frankly, I enjoy the paradox of stressing about how I will support a family whilst simultaneously considering dropping over a grand on some wheels, To continue this mildly masochist form of bike porn masturbation I have decided to enlist the help of my little spotty friend Zippig. He / she was a birthday gift from my parents to my beloved (can you imagine the horror on my face as she unwrapped it?) and has languished unloved in the spare bedroom (soon to be a very occupied bedroom) for the past 2 years but has now been enlisted into my cunning little plan to attain my 303 dream. Coppers, silvers, circles and hexagons (but not paper) are going to be fed into Zippig until one day he/she bursts thus ensuring a heavy visit to the local Barclays followed by a 3 clicks visit to the best on-line price. I like to think of it as low impact expenditure.

The way things are gonna be

The weekends always go too quickly and not least of all when you spend over 2 hours at Peter Jones with a 'Nursery Advisor' who chirpily takes you around the store telling you everything that you are going to need for when the little one decides to grace us with it's (no doubt screaming) presence. I was tossed between logical blokey interest (prams, car seats and BabyBjorns), practicality (cot bed's and storage), tearful cutesiness (little hats, socks and swaddling wraps) to downright toe-curling disgust (breast pumps - arghhhh!). It was all a bit too much and with every new product that was introduced I could not stop myself from saying 'add it to the list' in a semi-pompous nothings-too-good-for-my-child sort of way whilst at the same time having the inner Schleck pleading with me to shut up as he saw any chance of deep section wheels slipping away. It was hellish! At least all this came after a nice early morning jaunt into Kent (I am loving the 39x25 - especially now that I have refitted it without the rattle that plagued the Ride of the Falling Leaves (did I tell you that I was 18th in the GC?!)).

On Sunday came an experience that I probably never thought would have happened - I donned baggies with Dan and headed off into the woods for a bit of mucky fun. Titter ye not, it was the first time that I had been mountain biking 'for real' (ish) and, although only marginally less socially awkward than dogging, I quite enjoyed the romp in the Hertfordshire forests (if you can call the broker belt estates and golf courses of Berkhamsted 'forests'. Whilst Dan hopped and skipped his way over logs and down trails I gamely tried to keep up - in his desperation to convert me to the way of the muddy path he had lent me his best bit of kit, an Orange (make not colour) full suspension frame with Fox forks (about £800 a pair apparently) - scuffing and scraping every bit exposed flesh on trees, nettles and brambles as we went. Luckily the bike, which was surprisingly light for something that looked like a tank, forgave most things under foot and I found myself merrily ploughing over branches (not logs - which I daintily dismounted for unlike bunny-hopping Dan) and spinning up hillsides. Whilst I'm not in a hurry to go out and get myself a new toy and join him on a regular basis and I certainly won't be shopping at Howies but I did enjoy the experience and it did give me a good excuse to write about something other that carbon fibre for a change. Thanks Dan.

Picture - Howies

All that glisters is not gold

Being the smart Alec that I occasionally am I often like to correct people when they are wrong. For instance the much used (often in a slightly patronising way) phrase 'All that glistens is not gold' should actually read as today's title using the word 'glistERS'. It's only because I was forced to study Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice that I know this fact but, despite failing English Literature, it's nice to think that I remembered something from my school days. All this waffle leads me, albeit rather pithily, onto today's subject - pimping your ride for promotional purposes (and try saying that after half a shandy). Naturally at exhibitions each stand is vying for attention and they try as hard as they can with clever lighting, pretty girls (in very short supply at the Cycle Show - although the girl on the SKINS compression clothing stand was a marked exception), loud music or, as above, a ridiculously pimped example of a certain product. Now, the above Brompton was not actually on the Brompton stand so we can't be too tough on Andy (chapeau! by the way on getting the Prince Phillip Designers Award) but you can't help getting the feeling that somebody at Brompton knew what was going to happen to one of their babies and secretly quite liked the idea. No, this 24ct Gold 'beauty' was being used to promote an insurance company. Not only had they had the audacity to gold plate it but, to add insult to injury, they had added a cue-ball derailleur lever in an attempt to make it look like something ridden around South Compton instead of South Kensington. What made me laugh the most however was the fact that you could actually win this bike. Why in the name of Vicky Pendleton would anybody want to ride around on a 24ct Gold Brompton? One thing is for sure - you would need every penny of your accident cover for each time you were rammed into the curb by every driver that caught sight of you. However, if you think that this is a bit OTT you should have seen the Swarovski (is their NOTHING that those whores will not 'customise') bike. I couldn't bring myself to take a picture for fear of being blinded by the glister.

Top Tube Tuesday (2)

Here we have the second in the very occasional Top Tube Tuesday feature (I had hoped that the Tour of Britain might provide some more fodder for this feature but it seems that none of the riders cared to personalise their bikes, unlike Le Tour). Today's top tube is non other than Shanaze Reade - superstar, thunder (and we are talking tropical storm level) thighed BMXer and, if she cares to be, track goddess. Here is her actual Olympic bike (which wouldn't have come close to my yellow / metallic blue Puch Magnum back in the day), the very same one that she hit the deck on during what, with maybe the exception of Spartacus' demented final chase in the men's road race, was the most dramatic 2 wheeled moment in Beijing. Behold the chunky carbon fork (below) which I'm sure your average council estate hoodie would kill for (quite literally). It takes the BMX to a whole different level. On further investigation it seems that Ms Reade, despite her quiet interview demeanour, has a bit of an ego. Having 'Speedy Reedy' on your top tube treads dangerously into Cav territory, further evidence of which can be seen on Ms Reade's very own website complete with a stylised Shanaze in flowing dress on her mini steed (surely she must have got oil on it?). Although I will say that the diction and typos on her blog are a travesty - honestly, some people should have spent a bit more time in the classroom and a little less time on the berms!


Check out demz fawkz!

An uphill struggle

To those who follow such things this was THE Sunday marked with a big red ring in the calendar of South Londoners (and those further afield) who like to partake of pure pain for a couple of minutes. The world's oldest cycling competition, the Catford CC Hill Climb takes place in the morning whilst the Bec CC Hill Climb takes place a few hours later. Being the loyal husband that I am, I fully intended to miss these cycling monuments in order to appease my beloved after yesterday's free pass but, much to my surprise and joy, she was rather keen to go and see what it was all about. Alas, cycling history was deemed a little too early to witness on a Sunday morning so we opted for the big money (£1000 first prize is not to be sniffed at - only huffed and puffed at) and we made our way over to Titsey Hill to watch the Bec CC event. It's all jolly English with a nice dash of wannabe continentalism thrown in. Shouts of 'allez!' mixing with the 'go on's of the less deluded old skoolers. Having a vested interest in the form of Team Vitsoe's (for this is the jersey that I wear with pride on my weekend rides) star member Keith Henderson gave it an extra edge and there was also a real buzz about seeing teen sensation Germain Burton. So, amongst tea, cake and drizzle we yelled, clapped and clicked our cameras at the 80 odd masochists as they gave it their best shot. The winner of the grand prize (and £1000 really is a grand prize) was a relative unknown, Michael Leonard-Smith from Milton Keynes with last year's winner Jody Crawforth coming in second. Most dramatic ride of the day was Germain's as, surprisingly, he struggled badly until he reached the point where he simply could not turn the wheels, falling heavily. Shocked gasps echoed down the hill as his DeVer teammates ran to his aid, lifting him from the ground and giving him a final shove so that he could complete the last 30 metres (all of which I totally failed to catch on my camera - I desperately need help on this front). A very hard lesson in pacing but also a real display of true grit. However, final mention should go to 'our Keith', only ever having competed in one hill climb the weekend before he finished top 20 in both of today's. David Brailsford take note!


Tadros digs deep......



......but Henderson digs deeper.


DeVer wait for their boy (I quite like this picture, it's 'composed' one might say)


Proof of a hard 132 second's work.

The London Cycle Show

After a very pleasant breakfast with the in-laws at The Wolseley I made my excuses and skipped off to the Cycle Show at Earls Court exhibition centre. By 11.30 it was heaving with all types of geeks intensely discussing the pro's and con's of titanium, steel, gears, no gears, brakes, no brakes (you fools), clinchers, tubulars, lycra and leather (or was that just me?). It's the second year that I have been to it and, although not a bad few hours, I always feel a little disappointed in the fact that you get to see all this nice kit but can only buy very few things - the 'Retail Zone' was full of the usual bland stuff but packed with punters who were so horned up by the things that they had seen on the trade stands that they would have probably spent in the thousands if they had been able to. It's nice to see 2010 kit but it would also be nice to make it Britain's biggest bike shop for a few days. Apart from that gripe, I did like wondering around occasionally spotting a bored cycle star (Jamie Staff, Nick Craig (he won this year's Three Peaks and Nicole Cooke) doing their promo duties. I shan't do a long blog today about everything I liked (it will seep slowly from the blog over the coming days) but I will leave you with my favourite 2 non-kit pictures. A very strange man in his trike wheelchair (eccentric or not, 'kinky but wrinkly' is just plain creepy) and Captain RAAM himself, Jim Rees, pictured below attempting to cycle 1000 miles on a Watt Bike in four days on a stand built by spending £30 in Homebase. Team Inspiration is obviously operating on a tight budget.

The Correspondents Bike Part 2 (or, in 2 Parts)

Look at this. A painful site in more ways than one. All that (insurance) money spent so lovingly building up one of the flashiest machines seen on the roads of Cricklewood only to tank it within weeks. Nothing, not Super Record, not Assault wheels, not all the white carbon fibre in the world and obviously not even (yellow!?) SwissStop brake pads can help you when a car decides to cut across you whilst in full flight. So it is with much sadness that we consign The Correspondents bike to the annals of cycling history. Happily our hero has escaped remarkably unscathed from this encounter despite, according to one eye witness, 'being thrown like rag doll down the road'. Not a single bone broken, the doctors simply couldn't believe it 'the man's a miracle' they cried throughout the hospital and no doubt his unbreakable bone structure will be used for medical research when he does eventually depart for the big velodrome in the sky. In the meantime it's most likely a bit of feeling sorry for himself whilst busily filling out claim forms and making mental shopping lists for the next two-wheeled pimp mobile. Oh how I can't wait for the text and picture messages to start again.


A very crude attempt at building a unicycle worthy of breaking the hour record


He sent this picture to show off his swollen and bruised kidney but I found myself wondering why he shaves his pubic hair into a triangle - very strange.

Herne Hill Cyclo Jumble

Rising (slightly) earlier on Saturday I thought I would leave my beloved snoring and take the PM for an unheard of Saturday spin down to the Herne Hill track to have a look at the cyclo jumble that was being held. I have to say that it does upset me going to a once great venue to see the now decaying mess that it is but much has already been written about that particular matter and no doubt I will post something at a later date. The intention of this visit was to secretly indulge in the uber geekfest that is cyclo jumble. I suppose that they are no worse than any other form of car boot or antique and 'collectors fairs (the latter often laughing defiantly in the face of the trades description act), but they do make me smile as many of the stall holders and a good few of the browsers look as if they haven't touched a bike since their distant youth. Where does it all come from? Piles of tat and shapeless clothing mingles happily with cranks and cogs and bit's and bobs. Camera in hand I thought I would do a pictorial of some of the characters but, as ever, after a few clicks I come to terms with the fact that I am no more than a happy snapper and should leave the reportage stuff to those who know better (John, enjoy your veiled compliment). Actually I was quite surprised at the mix of codger and cool. After a little while I realised that I had subconsciously hit a rich vein of photographic form by taking pictures of the amazing mix of colours that form the cycling accessory category which you can see below. So after a nice 40 minutes of mingling I left with a warm feeling of having witnessed a subculture and smelt the first smells of another wonderful Dulwich autumn (though not before being cornered by a Moulton geek who started talking about things of which I have absolutely no idea - shudder!).

Oh, by the way, I returned to the velodrome on Sunday to ride the Dulwich Paragon 'Ride of the Falling Leaves'. I slept well, prepped well and turned in a time of 3hr 40min - VERY HAPPY CHAPPY!




What does bar tape need........?


.....bar stoppers.


And what goes in a bottle cage.......?


oooooooh, you little beauties.


Vintage clothing I understand, tat I do not.


With the exception of a Rouleur poseur I have never seen anybody carrying a musette let alone a used one. Suggestions for use please?


And finally, this display was obviously done with love.

CLICK HERE FOR HERNE HILL VELODROME

A certain ratio

Gearing - it's really one for the scientists and not for the weekend poseur like myself. However, whilst watching the World Championships with the looming spectre of the Ride of the Falling Leaves and the gentle burning in my legs from that morning's 'training' run in the Surrey Hills, I began to pay a little bit more attention to the dulcet ramblings of Hugh 'ees gorriz rice fice on nowooh' Porter and Rob 'chirpy, cheeky chappy (with elbows out)' Hayles as they discussed the 39x25 'tiny gear' that was being used on the slopes surrounding Mendrisio. 'Could this help me?' I wondered. So, with feet up, I had a quick flick at 'cycle gear ratios' on Google. Lordy! Please, somebody explain what it's all about. I honestly think that if Stephen Hawking was to take up cycling tomorrow (you never know) that he would give up straight away after trying to work out his ratios. All I want to know is this - if I go up a steep hill, what will make my legs hurt less and my lungs burn less without looking like a mountain biker. I'm inclined (boom, boom) to say that it's not rocket science but it bloody well is. Anyway, being the easily influenced wannabe that I am and having put the Zipp 303 dream to bed for this year (outbid AGAIN!) I succumbed to the subconscious chanting of Porter and Hayles on every climb (39x25, 39x25, 39x25.......) and bought myself a new cassette for Sunday's event. Quite a thing of precision beauty - let's see if it makes one jot of difference (if I can manage to fit it without breaking something).

CLICK HERE TO ATTEMPT TO CRACK THE ENIGMA CODE

Sunny Sunday

What better way to spend a Sunday? I ask. A lovely little ride out in the autumn sunshine followed by 4 hours on the sofa 'in recovery' (with doughnuts, of course) whilst watching the great battle of wits and strength unfold in the World Road Race Championships in an equally sunny Switzerland. Whilst wishing a win for Spartacus (after the dismal GB showing) I surprised myself by being rather happy at watching Cadel streak away and put the massed ranks of Italians and Spanish to the sword (imagine if Basso or Valverde were to have nicked it - awful). I was even more happy when I realised that I had an 'exclusive' image of our square jawed winner from this years Le Tour (will I ever run out of reasons to keep digging into this archive?). Maybe this race always featured in his masterplan. G'day all 'round.

PS - Note time of posting. He's only just stepped onto the podium.

Oh the days dwindle down

It's getting a little bit darker both morning and evening now as winter speeds relentlessly towards us whilst we're still wondering when the summer actually happened (again). It's been a little easier to swallow over the past few days as the weather has been absolutely superb - if Doctor Nature wrote a prescription for perfect cycling weather then this is how it would be. Nothing has been nicer than the ride home as the sun begins to set and London is bathed in gentle sunlight whilst the air is just the right side of cool as I gleefully pedal along (in a funny way it reminds me of the same sensation I had when I tasted the first incarnation of cool mints back in the early 80's - strange, the things you remember). It would be nice to think it might last until next Sunday's Ride of the Falling Leaves (which I have now entered after they opened up some more places) but I'm sure it won't.

I blog therefore I buy

This image brings to mind both the pleasure and the pain of my cycling obsession. You may remember that I recently posted an 'Instant Schleckism' item after having tried on the new all white Jawbones as worn by the streaky Luxembourger. Well, after fighting the urge for all of 2 days afterwards I set about tracking down the best bargain price and, without a hint of smugness, I can report that I paid 35% less than the full retail price! 'How did you achieve this?' you may well ask. Well, after finally tracking down an Elite Moro bottle cage on e-bay to match the one I currently have (even I couldn't justify buying 2 of them in one go when I originally bought the Colnago) I was presented with a 10% off next e-bay purchase voucher for my troubles. Straight back onto e-bay and hey presto, a bargain pair of Jawbones (modelled here by my conscience - hence the pain I feel when indulging) that I feel a tad flash wearing but actually rather like although would say that they perform no better than Radars.

CLICK HERE FOR THE BEST PRICED OAKLEYS

A spoddy September day in London

WARNING - QUITE A LONG POST TODAY!

This weekend was an absolute cyclefest for the city with the Tour of Britain on Saturday followed by the Skyride on the Sunday. Now, I made sure to be at the former whilst making doubly sure to avoid the latter (after last year I will NEVER make the same mistake - thousands of 'em weaving, cruising, NOT LOOKING as they leisurely made their goody-two-pedals way down the Embankment. Bloody lethal).

So, back to the Tour of Britain. Having secured a good spot to get some pictures of the start I casually leaned up against the barriers and munched on a sandwich in the knowledge that with my trusty Canon G10 I would get some great starting shots. Countdown begins, camera on, ISO set and finger on button. Here they come, getting closer, ready, 'click' and.....camera off!!!! WHY DO THEY PUT THE POWER BUTTON NEXT SHUTTER BUTTON? WHY AM I A COMPLETE TIT? Totally missed any half decent shots of the start - balls. OK, deep breath and on we go.

As is my particular thing, I am much more interested in the backstage than the front so managed to locate the pits and merrily wandered around snapping completely pointless pictures of dormobiles and soigneurs (don't worry, I shan't bore you with them). Luckily this led me to a back street of the course where only a dozen or so spectators were loitering. Even more luckily it was where the soigneurs were waiting with bidons - contentedly (nay, nonchalantly) standing in the middle of the road as they faced first the fleet of outriders and official cars followed by a peloton screaming down towards them at 25+mph . So, after a nice chat with a lady from CandiTV/Marshalls Pasta (surely the 2 least famous brands on Earth?) I sidled over nearer to the Cervelo chap in the hope that he might pass me a bidon in the same way that he had just done to a 6 year old boy. He must have seen the child in my eyes as sure enough (deep spod joy) I got my prize - half full of flat Coke (why not Zipvit? Most likely 'cos it tastes like shite, that's why) - and scuttled off as happy as a pig on Zipps. As if it couldn't get any better I was then presented with Agritubel and an AG2R versions - hell, I was practically part of the Pro Tour family.

Anyway, race is now over and I haven't a clue whose won but know that they will all be coming back to the buses very soon. Sure enough they all did and I clicked away to my heart's content as my beloved looked on with love in her eyes and no doubt a question in her mind as to whether she need bother with a child when she is already married to one. I was flitting up and down, clicking him, clicking him, clicking this and then clicking that (why on Earth I wanted to click 'that' I can only wonder but I clicked 'that' anyway).

Finally the carnival left with the exception of the Columbia HTC entourage. After all young Bosen Hagen had won the GC and he would be the last man back so patiently we waited, and waited. Finally, after the other team members collected their cases (Kim Kirchen being strangely ignored by the public which surprised me for a man of his standing in the peloton) the, not unattractive, female soigneur informed us that Edvald had taken a car directly from the podium. Off sidled the menchildren with the exception of one man and his little boy and me and my beloved (she had no choice). Seeing the disappointment in said boy's face, said soigneur disappeared into the dormobile and returned with a bidon with 'Kim' written in felt tip pen on the side. I HAD BEEN OUT-BIDONED BY A F***ING 8 YEAR OLD! I felt sick to the pit of my stomach knowing that, as a man of a certain age, I simply could not beg for a consolation prize too so off I walked, dejectedly, into the setting sun with my patient beloved. Oh how I can't wait until junior is born - he will be my bidon stooge forever more.

Here's a few pics (I hope you don't find them too boring)


Racing, racing, racing


Kindly Cervelo soigneur


Are all soigneurs ex-riders? Methinks not


Bidon booty!


Introducing the Katusha dogs. Who do they belong to.......?


....... to Ben Swift's mum and dad (very Rotherham)


Pozzato maybe a poseur but he is a bloody good poseur (eat your heart out Correspondent)


Reimer in a real huff at missing out on 2nd in the GC ('too flash' was the comment from my beloved)


Nicolas Roche in full flight....


....and enjoying a recovery drink afterwards


Kai Reus cotemplates what might have been


Ed Clancy finally surfaces after 8 days of hiding in the peloton


Gratuitous Zippage!


Malcolm Elliott - legend to all riders of a certain age


Next stop Switzerland

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