The kind folks at Ison
distribution www.ison-distribution.com
generously dropped me two of these lovely Genetic (Campag homage) seat post
binder bolts yesterday (19 and 22mm just in case). Seizing the moment, I gently
manipulated the frame’s ears, applied some composite friendly grease to bolt
and post before introducing said components at their correct nm. Some folk
still regard torque wrenches as a new-fangled luxury but in my book, lying
prone in A&E while an overworked and undervalued nurse plucks shards from
one’s buttocks is extremely undignified and totally unnecessary. Emblazoning my
moniker along its top tube, fiddly bits are finished and with freshly herded
goodies, my ferrous friend can resume secure hibernation until spring while I
address pressing business matters and chart long, slippery outings aboard
suitably dressed Ilpompino and Univega.
The deskilling debate has
been hotly contested in many quarters with equally compelling contradiction.
Traditionally this has referred to the labour market, primarily in relation to
automation and manual labour. However, it appears increasingly prevalent in
other spheres. I was somewhat gobsmacked to hear a police (traffic) officer
remark that once someone has successfully passed their driving test; they are
by default competent and capable users of the public highway (!) This
contradicts widespread driving instructor/examiner conviction that such
assessments are simply to ascertain someone is safe to be allowed to operate
said vehicle(s) unaccompanied.
London’s seamier districts
have always been awash with the unlicensed/uninsured and otherwise illegal
drivers. However, toward the end of my twelve years spent navigating the
capital on two-wheels, standards of PSV (Public Service Vehicles) operation had
become obviously dilute to counteract declining numbers. This new breed of
operator often substituted skill and courtesy with a deadly cocktail of
elephantine ignorance and aggression toward smaller craft. I even recall the
story of one, high on cocaine and deciding his passengers would benefit from a
more scenic commute through suburban Kingston-Upon Thames (!)
Far from engaging “Victim”
mode, I’m advocating for the re-establishment of “Road craft” whereby we have a
collective responsibility to adopt a sense of greater humility, while
continuously developing our skills and shedding this corrosive them/us
tribalism. Aside from the (very real) fear of their driveway resembling a
motorcycle salvage yard, my parents weren’t the least bit hysterical about a
strange and irrational interest in middleweight motorcycles running in parallel
with that of lightweight bicycles. Rather, they preferred to stress the
importance of having a car licence-if for no other reason than to appreciate
driver perspective and therefore, perceive potential hazards before they arose.
Bottom line, I’m pro cycles but only have a pronounced allergy to
stupid/ignorant/myopic humans, whether they be commanding car/van/bus/truck/horse/yak
or indeed motor/cycle.
Against this backdrop, I am
slightly perturbed by the notion of the UK’s sixteen year olds being able to
drive unaccompanied on public roads, albeit behind the wheel of a heavily
restricted vehicle. Now (before I’m mown down by an entourage of irate parents
defending the civil liberties of their offspring) this has always been possible
here under P class-trikes powered by engines no larger than 50cc. I can also
appreciate why these micro-vehicles would seem preferable to little darlings
terrorising commuter towns/estates astride sports mopeds, bereft of exhaust
baffles (in the misguided notion such unleashes extra dobbins!) However, these
do teach observation/road craft, contributing to an elevation of driver
standards.
The Netherlands and to a
lesser extent, Denmark are hailed as pinnacles of achievement when it comes to
systems of integrated transport but in common with other social phenomenon,
notions of being able to prune and re-pot in the UK is extremely naïve, failing
to recognise the pronounced differences in public psyche.
Now, time I was charging
some high power commuter lights and replenishing tired AAA cells, lest I fall
foul of the fuzz, or worse still, become a statistic on tonight’s moonlit
meander.
