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.