A long day of driving, walking and riding awaited with the London Cycle Show smack bang in the middle of it. I was raring to stop and full of beans only in that my digestive system rumbled ominously with the synthetic aftermath of a couple of bucketfuls of Heinz’s finest. That’d be the four pints of Whympler’s Old Peculiar then, which saved me the price of last nights dinner at the cost of an eye blurring hangover.
London traffic and my refusal to believe the SatNav “ e.g. I drove past here once in 1975 and it’s definitely up that street there even if it’s now bricked off “ made us late and the human millipede queue for tickets added frustration and more delay. Still, this did provide ample time to be essentially robbed, with a nice smile, at recognisable food outlets with unrecognisable prices. Just sign over the deeds to your house and sell a single child into white slavery and you can enjoy this stale, lamp hardened, baguette“. And I use to think only indirect taxation was licensed theft.
However, the event itself was great, acres of unattainable bling backed up by a trials show. Watching these small boys leap large gaps and landing perfectly on tyre width moist logs, was in no way spoiled by the knowledge that string and wires cunningly fabricate this illusion
First up, a spot of clique but entirely deserved back patting to Cy Turner “ he of Cotic bike design fame. Two new frames join the existing Soul and Roadrat, of which I own and rather enjoy both, an amped up hardcore brother for the Soul and a singlespeed bike so simple, he’s named it, er, Simple.