Having meandered back from the
midlands, I spent two days contemplating life, the universe and subsequent
moves from the Ilpompino’s recently moulded leather perch. Persistent, near
vertical climbs also had me pondering the wisdom of an 81 inch gear. Hardly
certifiable but something between 72 and 76 is nearer the mark for tarmac, 63
sans asphalt-not that I’ve taken this route on said beast for several years.
Sharing obvious similarities with IRO’s now seemingly defunct “Rob Roy”; describing these as “cross mounts with
track ends” is a bit over simplistic, since their loftier centres of gravity
require nimbler reflexes through more technical sections compared with a
standard, geared mount. Not that plummeting temperatures haven’t presented their
own challenges, potholes breeding at an alarming rate and many lanes under a
thick, frosty blanket, dotted with black ice.
Fixed is ideal for
these contexts, since it allows the rider to hold off against the cranks,
slowing the rear wheel by very subtle increments, especially in situations
where engaging one’s front brake would induce a skid and subsequent painful
face-plant or broken collar bone.
Muc-off’s CF3 dry lube continues to impress
with its serene tenacity and relative cleanliness, making wheel swaps and
puncture purging less socially awkward. Miles per application remains a
consistent 175, even through soggy stuff, although enduro’s old guard are
better served by wet ceramics and cleat mechanisms seem happier with heavy-duty
Teflon/PTFE sprays.
Back in the comfort
of my kitchen with warmth, running water and hot beverages in seamless supply,
I commenced the final stages of the Holdsworth’s reincarnation. Contrary and
unpredictable aren’t adjectives usually applied to yours truly but once again,
the script changed on account of the front Halo hoop’s powder coated sidewalls
being inappropriate braking surfaces.
Six layers of budget
electrical tape later those Miche Xpress were dressed in 23mm Specialized
rubber, axles treated to a precautionary lick of crystal grease to prevent
unnecessary chafing of frame ends. Diagnostics and planning complete, even the
most minimal builds can present unexpected challenges. Exit stage left my
trusty workshop chain splitter, choosing this crucial moment to shoot its drive
pin uselessly across the tiled floor and into oblivion!
Luckily, my Axiom
compact multi tool exceeded all expectations, joining ends in matrimony with
incredible finesse, leaving me to drizzle some CF3 dry into its parched links
before taking right magnesium Keo homage in hand and cranking things over.
Awestruck at the transmissions’ refinement, I repeated this several times
before introducing a quick squirt of heavy duty Teflon prep to cleat and dual
pivot brake mechanisms. Cable pruning complete, I sealed its end with superglue
and tweaked Tri-Bars for more ergonomic effect.
Earlier foraging
unearthed this colour coordinated, albeit elementary KNOG NERD computer and
pattern spoke magnet. The head unit was calibrated to 700x35,
demanding twenty minutes and an online memory jog. Ordinarily, chain tugs are
derigueur, the fixed equivalent of cuff-links but these otherwise exquisite NJS
stamped MKS offerings were redundant since chain length dictated the wheel
slotted fully home. Project complete, he can resume hibernation until spring,
leaving me to focus on commissions, deadlines and related matters.
Home-brew kits are
evocative of 1970’s middle-aged suburban men with dubious taste in jumpers and
facial hair. Ironic then that one’s sibling felt this nostalgic staple a
fitting yuletide gift. Recalling one or
two unfortunate, shag pile ruining detonations (induced, we think by
over-zealous mixing/fermentation misadventure) I commenced proceedings from the
safety of my bath tub, observing measures with religious precision.
Decanting everything
sequentially, stirring as instructed, I resumed interludes of pronounced creativity/inspiration. This serenity
was rudely interrupted two hours hence by a sudden, unnerving hiss. Dashing to
the bathroom, I was confronted by a torrent of partially fermented brown fluid
spurting uncontrollably from the exploded valve tap.
Keen to avert that
notorious scene from “The Shining” where water cascades uncontrollably through
the hotel’s corridors, I grasped numerous PET bottles and averted certain
“cascading through the ceiling” disaster. Said receptacles can remain safely
ensconced in a quiet corner, while I pursue some business leads and steal a
march on 2014.
