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

It started with a hiss…Aka The Blow out special

Not, not the sort inducing squeals of delight at the prospect of treating oneself to end of season kit at a serious discount, I’m referring to those inducing heavy hearts and fevered pannier/wedge pack rummaging for tyre levers, spare tubes and/or patch kit. Sources suggest we’ve had a months’ rain in a matter of days, slightly ironic given the hosepipe ban currently enforced here in the UK. A quick wander around the web brought me to the central Asian republic of Uzbekistan, it wasn’t long into a late afternoon meander before my mind adventured to faraway lands, their people, the culture, architecture all captured via compact system camera and successive memory cards. Swooping into a left-hand bend coincided with torrential cloudburst as water cascaded from the saturated fields, washing silt, shards of glass and other debris across the single moderately surfaced carriageway.

A gritty sound suggested some had begun clogging the Univega’s portly expedition rubber but before I could draw to a halt and purge its water channelling grooves, sharps ripped through the Kevlar casings and burrowed through thorn resistant tubes with a sickening hiss. Holed up in an empty field, I began rummaging in panniers for the first aid kit-spare tube, patch kit, tyre levers, pump etc. Cursing myself for leaving the Co2 inflator indoors, mercifully 550 strokes from the PDW frame fit brought us 80psi and back on the road. However jubilation proved short-lived with a further two glass torpedoes infiltrating the tyre’s armoured casing. Moral sinking quicker than said carcass, I was yards from Uncle Benny’s so wheeled us to the shelter of his veranda. 

In stark contrast to our relatively private personas, we have an unspoken, open house philosophy towards each other, having grown up in the same street. It wasn’t long before coffee, cake, sympathy and a very welcome track pump was placed beside me. Intermittent chat and banter suggested the stem on his road bike left him stretched that twenty millimetres too far.

By my reckoning a 90 should restore a sense of equilibrium. Tubes patched and tyre emergency booted, I swung a leg over the Univega’s top tube and beat a hasty retreat before Mother Nature could unleash another round of thunder, lighting and monsoon rain reminiscent of those opening scenes in An American Werewolf in London. Fifteen minutes later we’d made it home and had begun swapping tyres, consigning the rear Schwalbe to my cannibalise pile, swapping the front to the rear and refitting a 1.75 section Michelin to the front. Convinced I’d solved the problem, I popped out the next afternoon for a quick fifteen miles…