Season of the Witch

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in cyberspace to denounce the derailleur as the devil’s device, a product conceived from the secretions of Satan himself…Well, you’d be forgiven for thinking so given the slightly fundamentalist viewpoints expressed by some of the fixed gear faithful. Make no mistake, I love riding fixed but as my MTB derived rough stuff touring bike bears testimony, I’m no puritanical zealot.



No, this week I’m taking a seasonal look at night riding. My phenomenal nocturnal mileage leads my five year old to conclude his daddy is a vampire-something he is only to pleased to tell his teacher... Maybe it was colossal horror film consumption during my teens but the dark holds a particular magnetism. I like the silence of the lanes, the opportunity to muse and mull things over in the witching hour. Riding even familiar routes under the cover of darkness invites not only reflection but a whole new cycling experience.

The rustling in the hedgerows, monk jack dear cantering out from the fields and across my path, deserted military/farm buildings, monasteries etc never fail to get the heart racing and thought processes flowing like Niagara falls. It was precisely these nocturnal antics that prompted me to draft a short story about a man who unwittingly unlocks the door to a parallel universe. Sprinting through the lanes on his winter training bike (yes-it’s a fixed) late one night, hitting 26.4mph at a given spot he discovers the ability to travel- between 1967 and the present day and ultimately leading a dual life (an accusation levelled at myself on occasion).

I must confess a healthy fascination for the supernatural, thanks in part to my formative years spent in the Anglia region of the UK which enjoys a reputation for ghosts and things that go bump in the night... Legend has it; the devil’s dog “Black Shuck” roams the East Anglian and North Essex coastlines. Black Shuck reputedly travelled with the Vikings, terrorising the Norfolk region. Anyone making eye contact with the beast is said to die within twelve months. Now the reasoned, bespectacled sceptic within me rationalises this sort of folklore as convenient deterrent used by smugglers in days of yore to keep their activities clandestine.




Countless sightings over the decades has lead many a driver, motorcyclist and horse-rider to run over him, only to find he vanishes into the darkness- do I subscribe to the legend? Maybe not wholesale but I remain open to the concept of a dimension we do not fully understand and shouldn’t meddle with. I may have unwittingly encountered Shuck myself on a cold January night in 1999. Carving into the corners that typify the back roads leading to my mother’s house, lighting system on full beam, two piercing eyes glared at me from the verge. Drawing closer revealed something of wolf-like stature which promptly vanished into the night.



I wouldn’t rule out tiredness or an over indulgence in coca-cola on my part but there’s plenty of cyclists who seem to share an affinity with the mythical creature- disappearing with the darkness. Unlike Shuck, an encounter with one of Henry Ford's finest is unlikely to leave them unscathed. These stealth riders breeze through the night without so much as a blinker to advertise their presence. Given the advances in technology and tumbling prices, there’s no excuse to be sans illumination. Sure, even the best systems can unexpectedly fail but that’s entirely different from a wilful and extremely foolish flouting of the law.



I'm fully aware some driver behaviour is appalling and gaining a car licence seems preoccupied with passing the test-considered something of a right, rather than a privilege. Until this mindset changes, careless and sometimes wantonly reckless drivers can simply escape prosecution through loopholes in road traffic legislation. However, we mustn't allow this rationale' to justify or condone irresponsible riding.

I have a particular fondness for high power Ni-MH, Li-on and lead acid battery systems-especially for unlit roads and very cheerful budget models can be had for around the £50 ($90) mark. LED lights are so inexpensive and just as frugal to run. However, a great many do not comply with the British Standard- despite their performance. Technically, in flashing mode they are illegal but most police agree it would be a very cruel cop who booked you. US law as I understand it, prohibits flashing red beams but the interpretation of such varies from state to state.


My all-time favourite lighting system has to be the dynohub. These have improved beyond recognition since the old Sturmy archer units. Shimano’s venerable nexus and greatly refined Ultegra and Alfine stable mates offer bright, rider generated light on tap coupled with nominal drag. Super smooth annular contact bearings translate into a serene, fluid self-sufficiency that marries perfectly with the oft-quoted zen-like purity of a fixed transmission-there’s even a disc mount option!


True, hub dynamos require building into a wheel and carry a slight weight penalty over other systems but there’s no messy wiring to snag if you only power a front lamp. Even factoring the cost of wheel building, regular night owls will recoup their initial outlay within a season.



Jackets, tights and knickers are commonly impregnated with discrete, yet effective scotchlite reflectives eliminating the need for gaudy day-glow yellows (although I stow such a shower-proof training jacket in my seat pack/ pannier in case of emergency.) These technological advances mean an end to dressing up like mobile Christmas trees on acid. That said there's only 59 shopping days until December the 25th.

Hmm, an October 31st alley cat through New Orleans' french quarter...Bet that'd be fast-paced!

Happy Halloween!

Welcome to the Velodrome...I was too sick to attend the show

Whilst the fellowship of road fixers enjoys seemingly ever fertile ranks, the disciples of UK track racing, despite enjoying an elevated profile thanks to recent Olympic success feel something of a poor relation at grass roots level. The disciplines and rituals being treated with a suspicion usually reserved for religious cults rather than an exciting and relatively inexpensive branch of the sport.

Herne Hill velodrome is situated in an affluent, leafy suburb of an otherwise tough and uncompromising inner London Borough. A far cry from the post war hey days where it regularly enthralled crowds in their thousands-especially at Good Friday meets, it now limps from funding crisis to threatened closure. Casting sentiment aside for a moment, balance sheet valuation would suggest turning the site over to a developer for luxury housing-infinitely more profitable, even in the present economic climate.

Weary porta cabins soldier on as Spartan, yet serviceable office and toilet blocks. Behind lie huge steel containers playing host to a tired, unglamorous but reliable gas-pipe hire/training fleet, nine Meriden built Triumph Thunderbird 650cc motorcycles from a by-gone era where riders drafted behind, turning knee shattering gears in the hope of setting/breaking speed/distance records.

Another entertains motorised two-stroke bicycles known generically as "Dernys" originating in France and are now manufactured in the Netherlands. These were designed to pace the riders along- a common sight at six-day races and still do a turn at club-track meets thanks to the skill of some endearing, fanatical and dare I say, pleasantly eccentric pilots.

I have a certain fondness for the spectacle and excitement that such racing presents but through critical eyes, I can appreciate in these image conscious times how this might be perceived as quaint and comical-especially amongst a teenage audience where image is nigh on paramount.

I taught the rudiments of track racing (in an assistant capacity) for a couple of years-predominantly to this age group. Some were from very affluent homes and rode top-end Merlin’s, Trek, Specialized etc to school and at the other extreme were kids from the school of the streets- Tough, knowing and yet curiously naive/vulnerable at the same time.

Getting past the latter group's surly insolence; wise cracking and persuading them aboard the hard used track iron brought a miraculous transformation. Initially, it was outright fear that gripped them, their veins coursing with adrenalin and a sense of the unknown as they held tentatively to the guard rail. One by one, they gingerly set off, the fixed transmission responding to their every pedal stroke. Even the most nonchalant cultivated ear-to ear grins, their hardened devil-may-care cynicism replaced by a new found sense of wonder as they powered with escalating confidence around the circuit.

It was ironic, if unsurprising that the fastest learners were often the biggest pains in the ass and this occasionally leads to misadventure… One such convert in a moment of euphoria, threw his arms skyward in a victory celebration that would’ve rivalled a pro’s…For a split second he attempted to freewheel across the line, locking the transmission and pitching himself unceremoniously over the bars. Aside from shock and some minor laceration, he went on to compete in another race.

Most of those I tutored rapidly developed a new found respect and fascination for cycling and indeed, themselves-even the more timid and those with self-esteem difficulties came out of their shells to ride as if their lives depended on it, begging for that “One last lap” before the session closed. For this audience, I think the displays of velodrome tradition would’ve alienated as many as it inspired, leaving impressions of an elitist and eccentric activity that fails to connect with their view of the world.

The all weather surface lain in 1994 was designed for low maintenance as removed from four season’s competition and takes several days to blast clean with high pressure water jets come the spring. There’s been much talk of reconstruction involving an enclosed stadium rather like Manchester, catering for year round racing, a much higher profile and revenue to boot. However, cycling and niche disciplines are funded accordingly.

Let’s be clear, I am in no way detracting from the phenomenal time and energy put into the site by clubs such as VC Londres, Friends of Herne Hill Velodrome and many, many others. However, I am hoping that the resurgence in the road scene, courier chic and the underground alley cats, messenger Olympics etc might inspire more to give track a try.

Affordable machines like Fuji’s aptly named track are venerable, road-legal mounts more than capable of velodrome duties straight from the crate. Purists will doubtless disagree but for me, the messenger racing scene is a force for good and has the power through the medium of "cool" to bring about a marked turnaround in fortunes for struggling stadiums.