Justification

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding, Photography1 Comment

That bike has had a difficult birth. The frame turned up a little early, but the build went on more than a little late. Much of my afternoon was laid waste while I was forced into using four wheels to tour the county’s bike shops with my new frame. A frame that lacked certain important features such as a proper thread into which it’s traditional to screw the cranks into.

We’ll be back to that, but first pray a reverent silence for the sad news that the Kona Jake has left the building. I’d almost convinced myself not to sell it until opportunity knocked and offered handfuls of hard cash to take it away right then. Of the many bikes sold this one did illicit odd feeling of guilt, because not much had changed since I’d originally bought it. To explain, so many of the (many) bikes I’ve owned (rented) were bought (leased) in a crazy juxtaposition of eye candy and perceived want. And every time they were passed on, I sighed the relief of a man determined not to make the same mistake again.

Ahem. But the Jake was different as it had a dual remit of getting me to work and getting me to go forth and find local trails. Fast-ish on the roads and more than capable on woodland singletrack, it was the perfect hybrid of having to go somewhere and then having fun when you got there. But I rode it off road about three times, and went exploring just the once – that being the day it first came home.

But even with a reduced remit, it was a fine commuter – never let me down and sped through awful conditions for over a year with nothing more than a change of tyres. I could almost justify keeping it for those horrid days when riding a nice road bike feels like bicycling sacrilege, but the counter argument states that I’d just take the car instead whatever two wheeled weather bashing bikes I had hanging up.

And yeah, money talks. So it’s gone, to be followed by the old Kona in the Spring. Until then I’ll be putting a good number of miles on the ST4 assuming the chainsuck it exhibited on the bike stand isn’t a portent of things to come, or my shoddy building skills are not outed in some painful face-plant on the inaugural ride to be undertaken tomorrow. And yet I was entirely guilt free asset stripping the Cove for two very good reasons.

The first is that having ridden the Pace at Afan on consecutive days, it’s absolutely clear that full-suss bikes allow me to ride a whole lot longer and little bit harder. I was pretty surprised at how good I felt after the spine pummelling final descent on the Wall, but less surprised on the leg-weariness of my hardtail riding pal. And yeah, it might be close to cheating and an alternative would be to build up stronger back and leg muscles and stop whinging, but realistically that’s not going to happen.

The second reason is also rather good. The Cove may be nothing but a frame with a few accesorised hangers on, but it’s neither wall art or for sale. A stealth rebuild awaits converting others’ cast offs into another bike to ride when I’m in the mood for a stiff rear end*. Because one thing I do know for sure, and something that has nothing to do with justifying multiple bikes, is that a Hardtail for MTB’rs are like Alfa Romeo’s for petrolheads. You’re not a proper one unless you actually own one.

Whether it’ll get ridden will depend on if the ST4 is anywhere near as good as I remember.

* And as a man of a certain age, this can happen at any time.

This is why.

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding3 Comments

If you read this nonsense, then it’d be pretty odd if you weren’t aware of long term sheep imaginer Jo Burt and his view of the world. If not, suggest you pop over there and enjoy a far more cerebral pastiche on why we ride mountain bikes. While I am writing this, there are seven first and second line relatives sat in our house aghast that I’d rather be riding/writing/obsessing over all things wheels and dirt ,than giving a fuck about what they may find interesting. For which, I shall be in trouble later, and quite right too because they probably deserve better than my one track mind dictates.

Eight hours ago, I was stamping cold feet, all alone, on a sodden trail framed by a backdrop of horizontal snow and gale force winds. I cupped a hand against squinting eyes in an attempt to locate my riding mate Nige downstream. The view down trail depicted a snow blasted mountain biker struggling against a headwind, while being significantly splashed with ice cold water on every pedal stroke.

On arrival at my impromptu rubbish aerobics class, he whipped off his misty glasses, fired up a big grin and declared to the world exactly what I was thinking “God, this is bloody brilliant isn’t it?” The day before we’d knocked off a couple of great trails under leaden, cold skies but without any vertical moistness, while in the company of a good slice of the MTB community working off Christmas excess.

Today we had the trails to ourselves which considering the forecast, the actual weather and the obvious stupidity of any checking the former, before gleefully heading out into the latter wasn’t that surprising. And while my waterproofing was almost complete from head to toe, a slab of flesh between knee and ankle remained bare and unprotected. Hence the foot stamping.

Nige – smug in his thermal longs – pointed upwards and away we went encountering nothing but increasingly heavy snow and the blissful solitude. Conditions at the climbs’ end were pretty epic, with the wind whipping away conversation, and our tyres forging fresh tracks on an ever deepening winter covering . Nige blazed a trail and we slipped and slid down the exposed valley edge, all the time being cheekily blown about in directions we really didn’t want to go. Back in the trees, the fresh snow returned to a pasty mush meaning we could add speed and bravery to increasing momentum.

First descent done, water now trapped in waterproof shoes and sleet slashing at miracle fabrics, we made haste to where more fun was to be had. Sure, slower that we normally ride that trail and certainly with more caution but it’s bikes, and it’s dirt so it’s all good right? The car parks were empty, riders had gone home frightened by doom laden weather reports and breakfast rain, but we were out there, doing our thing and wondering why the hell you wouldn’t take these fantastic bikes, this weatherproof clothing and these awesome trails blending them together into an experience that has nothing to do with duty and everything to do with the nebulous concept of doing stupid stuff for fun.

The last trail is a favourite for both of us, and I’d intended to go for a formation finish but faffing with saddles and glasses saw Nige disappear with a velocity I associate with a lack of imagination. Slightly steadier, I felt the dirt unwind under my tyres and concentrated on nothing else but being smooth, brake-less and mildly courageous. This yielded the result of delivering the best five minutes I can remember – and I will remember – for quite some time.

It’s hard to describe why, so I’m not even going to try. Really it was a pretty dumb day to be riding, and by the time we’d high tailed it back a few k’s to the cars, both of us were on the slightly hypothermic side of frozen. The trails weren’t running fast, there was nothing we did we haven’t done before quicker, roosting dust tails and boosting off rocks.

But as Nige and I shared a post ride handshake, we both knew we’d shared an experience that so few have, and even less understand. We understood we couldn’t explain to our families why being a tad frightened, in a bit deeper that we wanted to be, and waving two soggy fingers at conformity was a happy place that has the gravitational pull of a small moon.

No, we really couldn’t explain it. But we do know this.

This is why.

Dog-Gawn.

On By AlexIn Other stuff, Photography1 Comment

As all parents of pre-teen children secretly know, it’s vital to squeeze the few remaining drops of offspring obedience when the rare opportunity presents itself. In this case, Christmas presents were held as collateral blackmail until wellies, warm clothes and outside inserted themselves into the kids’ otherwise gleeful assault on innocent wrapping paper.

Christmas Day Walk (10) Christmas Day Walk (12)

It’s worth recording that my wrapping skills haven’t improved one jot in the last few years. This can be simply proven by noting that all the seasonal offerings were neatly arranged and identified with a colourful tag. Except my stuff which lay abandoned in a brutalised state after thirty minutes of frenzied boredom eventually gave way to cursing, tearing and the application of gaffer tape.

I think Carol’s got use to it now. Or possibly the word I’m looking for is resigned. The dog however hasn’t got used to snow and ice at all, and treats the whole experience as geographical catnip. Even with four-paw drive and a low centre of gravity, Murf still only sustains forward motion while the legs are scissoring sideways.

Christmas Day Walk (22) Christmas Day Walk (24)

And even this potentially lethal combination of crossed limbs doesn’t seem to bother him much. Not enough to baulk at the opportunity to crash through a semi-frozen pond to retrieve a iced in stick. I’ve said it before but it’s worth saying again, I don’t think this is because he is particularly stupid*, but because as a breed, retrievers see a stick and just can’t help themselves.

Christmas Day Walk Christmas Day Walk (9)

A little later the house was full of shredded wrapping paper and happy children, although we were a little disappointed at their lack of noticeable admiration for the MONSTER Scalextric we’d built for them as a Christmas surprise. First eBay, then a desperate assembly job between shoving them back to bed for the third time and falling asleep ourselves, brought forth this sprawling masterpiece of loops, jumps and dangerous curves.

More on this later, but it’s fair to say that there was a tinsiest little bit of buying it for ourselves 🙂 I wasn’t expecting any gifts really since I’ve had one new bike already, and another one is on order. But Santa unloaded his sack** in an entirely unexpected manner by bringing forth a shiny helmet***. A roadie one at that which was both keenly priced and styled to transform the wearer into the Mekon from the neck up.

Right must get on, now we’ve had a whole day off it’s time to pick up the paint brush again to ensure incoming relatives are not aghast at our ongoing renovation project. Only one of the two adults in the house cares about this, while the other is wisely keeping his mouth shut 😉

* Don’t get me wrong, he’s not a shining beacon of intellectual light but compared to other dogs, he’s not entirely clueless.

** Not sure the kids believe in Santa now, it may be all the rude jokes I’ve been telling them 🙂

*** I could go on for ages, just say the word.

Skids are for…

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding, Photography1 Comment

… adults with real responsibilities, and an understanding of trail erosion who should know better. Right, right tossed out of the “well scanning phrase bucket” to lie contextually embarrassed before you, but I thought we’d try some festive honesty on the hedgehog. I expect we’ll be back to big whoppers, outrageous slurs and general inaccuracy come the new year.

So snow then, quite an interesting trail medium when under Mountain Bike tyre. The correct approach is – apparently – to hang gently off the back so allowing the front wheel to meander in a generally terrifying way, and then having a big crash. Tim and I tried that earlier in the year, whereas today on eve of Christmas with kids bouncing off the walls and Al feeling pretty similar, our approach was somewhat different.

Malvern Xmas Eve Ride Malvern Xmas Eve Ride

Because when you’re in touch with your inner five year old, the only snow riding technique is to barrel bravely down the straights, weight firmly over the front wheel and whispering “be brave, it’ll be alright, be a bit braver, no not quite that brave on reflection“. Until a corner hoves into view, at which point your left hand squeezes almost as much as you bum, your hips shift in the opposite direction of proposed travel, while the bars are yanked hard in the alternate direction.

Malvern Xmas Eve Ride Malvern Xmas Eve Ride

And if you live a righteous life, the unweighted rear will begin to slide the perfect arc slicing into the corner’s apex, and you will squeal with delight like the small child you clearly are. It is also vitally important to risk a look rearwards to check the height of your snowy rooster tail. You may crash of course, but hey practice makes perfect or close to mediocre in my case. As while Tim was sashaying side to side as if method acting a drunken fish, I was more having it quite small. And working down from there.

Malvern Xmas Eve Ride Malvern Xmas Eve Ride

But disk brakes have such brilliant modulation, and dicking about is infectious which pretty much summed up our two hour ride in hills still full of snow, but mostly free of other grumpy trail users. And driving back sandwiched between the stupid and the timid, I couldn’t help thinking that it was a shit load easier to pilot a chunk of steel supported on four fat tyres with the driver protected by a huge metal sandwich, than ride on 2 inch tyres on trails that offered nothing but hard times if you got it wrong for one second. No ABS, no traction control, nothing between you and a frozen ground promising the gift of much soreness for Christmas.

Malvern Xmas Eve Ride Malvern Xmas Eve Ride

Which is the way it should be, and may go some way to explain why – on the transition from gritted main road to the ice rink that passes as ours – the big old four wheel drift was corrected with a deft flick of opposite lock and a burst of throttle. Frankly I was bloody disappointed with the lack of rooster tails showing in the mirror.

And that may be the reason I explored the envelope of 4WD and a violently applied handbrake in our little patch of Herefordshire. It was bloody ace, mainly because even my own kids thought it was immature. Trust me on this, that is officially a good thing.

Anyway I’m back a better person and ready to deal with a day of waste packaging, sibling fights and sloth. Which seems an ideal time to thank you all for continuing to participate in my on-line therapy, and wish all a Merry Christmas. On that note, I’m off to get drunk.

The Christmas Ride.

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding, Photography2 Comments

All is ready. A handful of mince pies snaffled from the “do not touch before December 25th” box, tyres kicked, brakes prodded and chain given a sacrificial coating of lube. The promise of a short ride interspersed with longer periods of drinking home made Sloe Gin – with the specific gravity of aviation fuel – and munching assorted bakery products is most appealing.

If I can get there. Before it started dumping snow 30 minutes ago, the only way our – resolutely ungritted – rural road is passable is for the brave, the stupid or the incredibly smug 4×4 owners. Sheet ice with snow on top out there, and there have been many things that had gone bump in the night, in the day, and in the ditch. I’m determined not to add to the tally.

Being brought up in a county that, before proper global warming, was essentially undersnow for three months of the year, you could safely assume my driving and riding skills are properly attuned to such conditions. Not true, I’m useless, vacillating between extreme caution and terrifying bravado whoole holding on with the sweaty palms of a man whose seen his immediate future and it’s upside down.

Since I took that photo, the snow continues to fall, the kids continue to scream in delight, and the dog continues to practice his snowball catching skills.

And soon I’ll be ascending the lower slopes of the Malvern Alps on first untreated roads and then unseeable trails.

Still, it’ll be a laugh. Probably.

EDIT: That’ll teach me to big myself up then. The cancellations came flooding in by text message until only two men were left standing. But not riding. Dickus Motorus had turned the 15 minute journey to ride’s start into 45 minutes of terminal stupidity, and even if we conquered that obstacle, both of us had some doubts about surviving a clagged in, snow-over-ice ride in pretty horrid conditions.

I was still up for it amazingly but the right call was made. But I couldn’t help thinking, as I was making fresh tracks with the mutt at 8pm, how bloody awesome it would have been.

Anyway Tim B is still young enough to retain his adventurous gene so we’re off out at lunchtime. Better go pack those mince pies again 🙂

A man for all seasons

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding, Other stuffLeave a comment

That’s me. Grumpy in the winter, generally morose in the Spring, Raging impotently at the Summer, and depressed come winter. So I’m not going to regale you with a slight lowering of the miserable co-efficient because we’ve passed the shortest day, instead showcasing my bold new approach to the rather moribund and out-of-touch seasonal edges.

Every cyclist is obsessed by two things, the weather and the potential for benightment*, one of which are largely driven by seasonal properties while the other an increasing factor of rich countries’ appallingly arrogant attitude to climate change. But leaving aside the tedious fact that we’re burning the planet with our rapacious attitude to making money, the months and the seasons make sense but the ordering doesn’t.

I’ve always understood the coldness or otherwise of the weather is largely based on how much Sun the ground receives and at what strength. Right so why would we start the Winter season AFTER the equinox where the big yellow orb has already passed its’ lowest point. Surely warmth should follow light and February is therefore less dark and cold than November. I partially accept this doesn’t appear to be the prevailing weather conditions over the last few hundred years, but I’m with the sceptics here so the word Trend is merely a bunch of letters starting with T.

Anyway here’s my proposal, Winter now sits snugly either side of the Solstice, so spring starts February 1 and finishes at the end of April. Summer (with a modernist alternative name “Monsoon Season“) runs May through July, leaving Autumn to round off the year with August, September and October being far more appropriate than chucking December in.

Admit it, it’s brilliant and I’m going to slip it into negotiations when someone in authority actually answers my email which can be simply summarised “GMT? What the fuck’s all that about, BST all year please“. Talking of someone in Authority, I’ve been talking to Carol about stuff revolving – predictably – about a lack of bicycles even tho – as she was keen to point out – a new one appeared less than a week ago. And none have gone the other way.

However, finally won over/bored beyond belief by my watertight logic and impassioned argument, she’s agreed that Yes, I do need an ST4, right now with no point waiting since it’d be at least£20 more after the VAT increase. So I’ve ordered one, and made a positive commitment to thin out the thicket of bicycles that have now overspilled into my office. I’m downsizing to 4 next Spring (Starting March 1 remember) when the three season MTB’rs emerge from hibernation, blinking in the sunlight and in desperate need of a shiny new RetroBike/Ti Frame/CX Bike.

Probably. More likely than our glorious leaders deciding they’d rather do the wrong thing for the wrong reasons, because it’s far more important they get re-elected.

* And most mountain bikers would like trail condition, kit blinginess, tyre choice, fashista status and the next new thing to be taken into consideration.

The Menace Sledge

On By AlexIn Other stuff, Photography5 Comments

Before we start, let’s stop for a second so I can get my excuses in early. Firstly – after the flurry of activity some time ago – there have been some problems in the actual build due to exploding drill bits, lost wood and last minute design changes. This is what happens if you put a ten year old in charge. The only possible way things could have got any worse is if I’d be installed in the post of engineering director.

But I was happy in my role of “insane driller” and “frenzied hammerer” – as I’ve said to you before, to a man who only understands the hammer, all the word is a nail Anyway what’s built isn’t finished because I couldn’t find the right powertool to inflict more injury on the mutation that squats before you. Secondly, the lost wood I obliquely referred to earlier may have been accidentally set on fire.

Because the “to be painted” pile was left perilously close to the “to be burned pile“. And as I trudged down to the shed for the sledgehammer*, I couldn’t help noticing some brightly coloured wood being licked by hot flames. I did offer “something from the woodpile, Madam?” to bring the beast back to height, but Verbal has even less patience that me and wanted it finished today.

Which it isn’t. Too cold for rattle can paint, not enough snow to see whether it’ll maim my firstborn in a) ten yards b) five yards or c) no yards at all as it splinters on first impact with the snow. But what’s there – as you can see – has all the skill, craft and care that an artisan such as myself can lavish upon it. For example, how many sledges do you know that have “go faster holes” in the runners plugged by modellers’ clay? Or a cunningly installed 3/4 drill bit that could – at any time – dislodge itself to become an unwanted brake.

She likes it. God only knows why. Maybe it was the lovely job I did with the rifling bit** to countersink the seat screws. I mean it’s clearly dangerous enough already without subjecting Verbal to metal chafing. She thinks it’s a triumph, I’m not so sure but I am reasonably confident what anyone else who sees it may classify it as. Already have my strategy for that “no, no nothing to do with me, it’s something that made in school, bless ’em”

Verbal is hoping for snow. I’m hoping for a some queue jumping allowances at Hereford A&E.

* I had some fine and neat work to complete.

** Probably not the proper term, but that’s what it looks like to me

Skeletons in the closet

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding, PhotographyLeave a comment

I found myself accidently re-directed to my old and turgidly slow fotopic account. And in there lurked many devilish photographs from days before someone introduced me to Flickr. I could not help but share them with you. First up is Steve “Watty” Watkins in the Chilters. Or in the Chilterns mud to be more accurate – looks like the middle of summer as the grimy slop seems still to be warm.

Below are a few more, some of whom who I still share my rides with, some who have decamped half way round the world so they no longer have to. There’s even one of me – predictably mincing. If you spot yourself, feel free to own up, and attempt to explain exactly what was going on to make you do/wear/look like that 🙂

Mike on the frozen lake at dunsmore Singlespeeds just a technical step too far for Al One day, many gurns Oh baby that gurns

Yes Andy it's a water bottle. Well done Best thing that could have happened to that jacket Nick does Matron

Dave demonstrates how to ride in the snow. Not. Our version of That's proper Northern mincing in the peaks Mike with a bad hangover. Can you tell?

Not so much a fashion crime, more a war crime. I've never liked you either TIm challenges James in the

Jay goes fishing for his supper Andy The result Martyn at the end of his SPD manual demo

Click on the thumbnails and they’ll load eventually. I think fotopic’s hamster is well past his best.

Many happy memories in that lot 🙂

“There’s a problem with your bike”

On By AlexIn Bikes, Road Riding9 Comments

So said the standard issue multi pierced, alternatively hairstyled young punk behind the Bikehut desk. I was only able to extract this admission once he’d had a good scratch of his crotch, and spent some time examining the floor in the obvious hope this would spare him from dealing with boring old blokes. To be fair to the lad, it cannot be easy even moving about when your jeans have a crotch that doubles as a marsupial pouch, and even just bending down risks several potentially lethal stabs from a much-gelled serrated fringe.

It’ll take a while for you to scroll down when I’ll get this down, but stick with me on this, it’s a cracker.

AL: “Right then, tell me more what’s the problem”

GR: “Gears won’t index, need a spacer, don’t have the tool, can’t let you have it without PDI’ing it fully otherwise they’ll make me wear proper clothes“*

AL: “Well you could have called me” GR: “We lost your number” AL Slapping Every Increasing Forehead “When will it be ready then?”

GR: “Tomorrow, maybe Friday, no later than when you’re dead”

AL: “I know this isn’t your fault, and you’ve been left to roll out the bad news by your boss who sounds the part but clearly has a fine career waiting only in Sales and Marketing, but I’m here now, I’m a bit irritated, I have no intention of coming back tomorrow, so what do you suggest we do next?”

GR clearly considering which bike tool he’s going to insert up his boss’s back passage come first light tomorrow “Er, Er, I dunno, do you want a black one?“**

AL: “No I bloody don’t. I’m in touch with my inner Essex, what’s Plan C?”

Plan C appears to be the supervisor who is – oh – months older than the Grom, who smartly steps in and asks “Large is it?” “Yep” ” Special Edition” “Yep”, “How about that one over there?” She points to a bike carelessly laid on the clothing rack showing at least the odd sign of being built.

GR: “Er, Er, that’s for a bloke whose coming in tonight. From Swindon”

SU: “Ring him up, tell him not to bother”

GR: “Don’t have his number either”

SU: “He’d have come by now, let this gentleman have it”

GR and I exchange a glance. I know he’s in a world of shit if this bloke turns up demanding his bike tonight even though it’s only 20 minutes to closing, and he knows I’m clearly the type of selfish arse that is leaving with either the bike of his choice, or a choice of body part from the cannon fodder behind the desk.

GR: “I’ll just sort the brake cables” and off he wanders hunting for some tool that is clearly going to be sharper than his own intellect.

For a second, I’m conflicted with a fairly unusual feeling of guilt that not only does some poor bastard have to live in Swindon, he’s made a special trip all the way to Hereford where his reward will be a grunty grommit and a bag full of excuses. Two seconds later, I’m over it and flashing virtual cash while trying to speed up the lad whose turning cable cutting into a three week job.

Eventually – just before I rip the tool from his hand and do it myself because I know something bad is bound to happen if this goes on much longer – the bike is handed over, I take a deep breath and admonish myself not to ruin everything by hastily falling down the stairs. I navigate those successfully only to be confronted by a fit looking chap of about my height sharing a cheeky hello and a “Snap I’ve come to pick one of those up”.

Well what would you do? Honestly, you’d be out that shop and gunning the engine in an escape driver styleee rather than have to try and negotiate between three people you’ll never see again, or be forced to wrestle for ownership of the one working bicycle. Look I’m not proud of my behaviour, but at least I’m being honest here. And he was from Swindon, so really deserves almost everything he can get. Or is this case, didn’t.

Bike loaded, engine running, I sneaked a last look up the stairs when there seemed to be some kind of argument going on. I’m surprised they didn’t call me up to ask if I could come back in – ah no they’d lost my phone number of course. I’ll ring up tomorrow to make sure no-one was injured on my behalf, but right now I’ve a lovely 8 kilogram Carbon road bike sat behind me ready to float onto the ceiling and that’s makes me happy.

And a bit of a bastard, yes I’ll admit to that.

* I have applied the Babel-Hog to save you having to navigate grunts, oddly placed glottal stops and vigorous crouch rubbing.

** Again, I’d like our London readers to take a deep breath and try not to make 2+2 add up to about 69.

I was going to complain.

On By AlexIn Bikes, Road Riding6 Comments

I know, I know this isn’t something one would normally associate with the long suffering, much blighted and yet stoic head of the hog. But after the longest number of hours spent on a train for the least number of miles covered, my reward this morning was toothache.

A bit of a recurring pain this one, which seems to have suspiciously escalated since I last visited the dentist. I can only assume they planted some kind of nano-molar-drilling bot in there, so they can fleece me for even more cash. Hah, little do they know we don’t have any left.

And while my teeth were sore, the rest of me had that sort of shivery ache humans – well blokes – assume is the trigger for a one man flu pandemic. But still I struggled to work – stoic remember – haltingly through a set of roadworks that promised completion as an early Christmas present for us toiling travellers.

Well even that small bauble has been snatched away with the only obvious sign of progress being the “Work Ends December 2009” sign secreted away under the cover of darkness, and a brand new one declaring “Work Ends January 2010” installed in it’s place.

By not complaining, I seemed to have snook in the odd gripe but that’s not really the point* of this post. No after beseeching Halfords to discard their comics for ten minutes and have a mooch around the stock room, my “sorry sir not in yet” new road bike has magically appeared from behind the hidden stash of porn mags.

They explained that their extensive pre-delivery inspection and build would mean no carbon strokery for me until Friday. Or I could pick it up this evening and insert the forks the right way round myself. I don’t believe you would need more than one guess on the choice I’ve made.

Tomorrow calls for snow. Perfect way to test out my first ever slick-shod, race bred, silly light road bike. I know I’ve said it before, but what could go wrong?

* “There’s a point” I hear someone ask. Long term hedgies would probably shake their heads sadly and recommend the BBC website or something if you want to learn something.