Down tubes and Phantom Squeaks

Riding, rather like music has always served as an escape. The ability to blast along under your own steam and at a decent pace, blowing everything into perspective has been every bit as enticing, dare I say addictive as lightweight framesets, components, apparel and tech. Judging by several cycling-centric novels and biographies I’ve been reviewing lately, I’m not alone.

Numb of bum and brain, having spent several hours slaving over a keyboard; the soft, enticing whisper of deserted lanes is hard to resist. Mild, wet winters have seen a pronounced spike in pothole fertility. While highways agencies and local authorities send gangs of mastic asphalt spreaders to patch large sections of our infrastructure, tubby tourer and I have been embracing the deviations.

Crime is perceived as an urban phenomenon but metal thieves and similar shady “entrepreneurial” types often emerge, taking advantage of isolation, casing farm buildings and abandoned properties under the cover of darkness. 

This encourages a surprisingly brisk tempo through certain sections. In other respects, I like the eerie quiet-conducive to contemplation, whether it be formulating opinions/conclusions on components/accessories, or formulating new characters/plotlines for short story projects.

Talking of which, the illustrator I snapped up last week is eager to bring my children’s stories together in a series and has also come up with some fantastic ideas of his own. I’m looking forward to his work and getting these some proper exposure.

Back to bikes and the arrival of some fresh bike wash, bottle cages and other test staples saw me cleaning several weeks’ worth of salty spatter from my Univega.Depending on their grade, even stainless fasteners will eventually succumb-especially chainstay bridge bolts and others blasted with wet, mucky stuff. These generally get a quick squirt of PTFE lube to preserve their finish and mobility-usually post wash. 

However, the Univega’s lowest slung bottle mounts hadn’t been given a second thought in a few seasons. Thankfully, these had just turned arthritic, not right royally seized; Liberated with a quick shot of PTFE spray, T handled Allen key and some choice words.              

Re-dressing their threads in stodgy wet lube, I substituted the elderly (18 year old) but remarkably well-preserved Kalloy cage for this Topeak Shuttle. Semi/Compact geometry frames have been a positive revolution, meaning most people can find a production frame to fit. 

However, smaller riders may find two standard cages and bottles problematic.

Several manufacturers have addressed this, often with side-entry designs such as these Lezyne. The Topeak is a more traditional looking option.

Made from engineering grade plastic with integral metal washers to prevent fatigue caused by over-tightening, I’ve been porting it around the bosses, tenure with standard trade and tool caddy bottles is reassuringly good-even off road but intentional release isn’t gunslinger quick. A few more weeks are needed before definite conclusions can be reached. 

Since we’re on the subject, I’ve always liked several bottle mounts.However, those beneath the down tube is anything but ideal for rider refreshment-unless bottles feature protective caps, balloons (or condoms) are the only barrier between you and some extremely nasty bacteria thrown up by the front wheel. 

The latter also invites relentless ridicule from riding companions and sideways glances from other passers by. I’ve even had a very determined terrier attempt to scoff one while I’d nipped in to a farm shop for some mid ride sustenance! Hustling along one such deserted stretch; my silence was rudely interrupted by some intermittent and disconcerting squeaks.

Hauling in the front lever and coasting into a clearing, I checked the obvious candidates-bottom bracket, cranks and pedals... Saddle cradle...Nothing. Hopping back in the saddle and scooting off, I diagnosed a slack cassette lock-ring but bereft of hyper cracker tool, resisted the urge to hammer for those remaining 15miles.

Continuing the down tube theme, this Unich “detonator style” mini floor pump also arrived for testing. Well finished and surprisingly svelte by genre standards, despite rough roads and lumpy forest tracks, it hasn’t slipped along the resin bracket, allowing the handle to rattle woodpecker fashion against the frame.

This can lead to tiny dents on really thin-walled tubing, or mark finishes, hence my precautionary strip of “Helicopter” tape where these make contact. This version is reckoned to deliver 110psi, which is a little short of ideal for really high pressure training and race rubber but more than adequate for touring and wider section training types.

Swapping between Presta and Schrader valves is equally straightforward. Simply unscrew and plug on. No swapping (or losing) tiny bits by the roadside on a cold, rainy night. A boon should your tag along or trailer wheel get a flat. On that note, I’ll end with this clever use of defunct butyl

Grotesque GWCs & Delightful Designers

In the former context I am of course, referring to the “Guy with Camera”. This acronym is oft used within semi/professional and modelling circles to describe a certain grade of sleazy, lecherous individual who poses a threat to women and genuine photographers.

Once upon a time, these would’ve been seen perving with their Polaroids but they have become better equipped to catch the unwary as “Professional looking” equipment tumbles in price.

Parallels between scratcher and tattooist spring to mind here.

One will operate from unlicensed premises with no accreditation, using basic equipment bought online and won’t have registered with the local health authority, let alone possess public liability cover.

Sit in their chair asking for Pegasus and you’ll get my little pony with wings, possibly a nasty infection into the bargain.

The GWC will offer to shoot modelling port-folios with dubious results, not to mention intentions. No model release forms, liability cover, proper studio, assistant and insistence upon chaperones? Smile a lot and walk away very quickly.

With these distinctions firmly established, I was busily indulging in some industrial imagery last Wednesday afternoon; though specifically this Triumph TR3 shell awaiting blasting and related prep. 

Having narrowly avoided a close, head-first encounter with the methyl chloride tank, it was a successful mission. Packing away my SLR and lenses, I was approached by a grubby looking man in his thirties who attempted to strike up a conversation.

“Been busy?”  “Yes”; I replied politely.

“What have you been photographing?” he continued

“All sorts”; came my guarded response.

“Women?; bought myself a Nikon..” his return serve;  I could almost feel the steady trickle of saliva cascading from his mouth as he pursued this line of unwelcome enquiry-oblivious to my brusque and reproving replies.

“Yes, I shoot all manner of portrait and makeover commissions”.

He took this to mean, naked...”So where do you go to shoot these naked birds; a venue or do you just drop round their houses?”

His closing comments swept me back to a cold December night in Amsterdam’s red light district.

City dwellers passing smartly as crowds of male tourists pointed and gawped at women posing provocatively in the neon lit windows. This was twenty years ago when prostitution was decriminalised and tolerated but at this level, mafia controlled. 

One group from Streatham discovered this first hand when their leader aimed a disposable 35mm point n’ shoot at the neon saturated terrace. Contrary to popular misconception, prostitution was tolerated and decriminalised during this era but only legalised proper in 2000. (This presented another distinct problem for trafficked women as their status changed to illegal immigrant).

Seconds later they were chased away by a man brandishing a very large, serrated knife.  Many of the women serving this market were trapped, trafficked by Russian and Turkish mafia from Africa, former Soviet states, South America. Others served even darker masters most notably drug dependency mental illness.

Ending on a far lighter, happier note, I’ve recruited a talented and enthusiastic illustrator to collaborate on my series of children’s stories-he liked their concept and is busily bringing the characters to life as I type this.

Suffice to say I’m delighted and will reveal more another time. Right, time I popped the camera batteries on charge, threw a leg over the Univega’s top tube and went for a blast along the back roads.    

  

Fait accompli

  

With several hundred miles under my derrière, the Spa cycles Aire saddle is finally moulding to my shape, almost to the stage where we can churn away agreeably for several hours in succession. This particular feat of endurance not only boasts a very personal outcome but is strangely satisfying too. Admittedly on some levels, resurrecting the Dia Tech Gran Compe and slipping it between the Ilpompino’s post cradle was a cosmetic exercise since it compliments the fixer’s slightly faded handlebar wrap.

This also proved a timely opportunity to dress them in proofide, nourishing the hide while locking the elements out. Suspicion suggests the saddles were separated at birth-both have an untreated surface and began assuming my profile at 350 miles…I’m one of those riders puncturing infrequently for months and miles on end before being hit with a glut.

Perhaps the Ilpompino was indulging in some attention seeking behaviour but both its thorn-resistant Kenda had inexplicably, not to mention irreparably sheared around the valve stem. Mercifully, while on another mission involving 4 stroke lawn mowers, I uncovered a couple hiding away in unusual places…

Sticking with seating, I toyed with putting an old Turbo that had been doing something close to nothing on ebay but Uncle Benny let slip he wanted something more forgiving to his posterior than the OEM Velo gracing his road bike.

A more befitting 90mm Woodman stem with 17degree rise and a seven speed freewheel (yes, a screw-on!) followed suit; the latter a very fetching nickel plated Sun Race replacing an old Shimano with ailing pawl springs. Talk of the devil, he’s been here all week, replacing my twenty-five year old heating system before winter arrived-it was literally running on goodwill and held together with corrosion!

  

Talking of the devil, changing seasons-not heating engineers, these Lezyne micro/macro drive lights arrived on my desk as a timely reminder perhaps of summer’s swansong and autumn’s advance. True to Lezyne law, they look and perform beautifully.

Non- replaceable li-on cells were a little disappointing but their power to size ratio and intelligent sensors that kick down to conserve power are definite plusses. Diminutive dimensions won’t cramp fixers’ clean lines, there’s sufficient oomph for out of town commutes and as dynamo companions on Audax all-nighters. 

Clutter-phobes are arguably best served by the croquet shaped micro drives that charge directly from the USB but both employ sophisticated diodes, optics and beautifully machined alloy bodies. Lumens; rather akin to camera megapixels sells lights and might earn bragging rights amongst the chain gang but lens quality is what makes ‘em useable.

Both are adequate for navigating poorly lit roads at around 20mph and in the macro’s context at least, oncoming traffic pays heed to around 400 metres on a clear night.  There will always be exceptions to this of course-the most obvious being those who recklessly endanger the lives of others by texting, or indeed watching pornography on their smart phones.

Pre season fleet fettling also meant replacing the Univega’s final outer brake cable run-it’d been cut too short previously and thus inducing some unwelcome binding. The rear hoopl also needed a quick tweak on the wheel builder’s jig but we’re talking £7.50 nuisance value rather than samba dancing. More disconcerting was the cassette’s reluctance to budge, even using Pedro’s vise whip and a long-handled Shimano pattern tool.

A firm lunge finally won the day, freeing the lock-ring whose threads turned out to be profoundly bereft of grease. I can only assume this is the result of harsh solvent cleansers rather than sloppy installation on my part. Nonetheless, I popped the cluster in a redundant ice cream container and administered a liberal blast of WD40 Specialist Fast Acting Degreaser. Residual lube and congealed gunge receded almost immediately, leaving a rather artistic imprint behind. Alas, its solvent component also gobbled the receptacle!

Decay/abandonment, urban and otherwise has long been a passion of mine, hence I popped over to an exhibition of photography taken inside an old; dare we say notorious institution that has been earmarked for housing since its closure in 1997. While admiring the haunting imagery, often taken at very long exposures, I noted a local publisher of children’s fiction looking to hire a freelance illustrator. Not my trade but akin to the old asylum, my hard drive plays host to a series of long forgotten stories so I’ve made some enquiries…Nothing ventured, nothing gained.