A deft, split-second flick of one’s thumb rewards with a surprisingly audible ping-great for quiet back lanes and mingling in close proximity with pedestrians but not a lot of use against a symphony of pneumatic drills, motorised traffic and similar noise pollution endemic to busy town centres.
Will Meister has gently asked for the return of his Kontact saddle so we've reverted to the similarly high tech carbon railed Selle Italia Turbomatic. I generally revel in the comfort of cutaways but several wet weather outings aboard Izzie reminded me that full-length mudguards (Fenders) are mandatory if a cold, soggy crotch/posterior is to be avoided.
Who loves ya baby? Sorry, couldn’t resist… After several weeks’ deliberation, I’ve bitten the bullet and breezed these Schwalbe Kojak aboard the Ilpompino’s hoops.
Filling those cross-inspired clearances gives a tidier effect, while ensuring smoother passage over erratically maintained roads. In my experience, the Kojak casings are more vulnerable to thorns and similar sharps compared with some so I’ve gone all belt and braces, fitting super dependable Kenda thorn-resistant tubes.
On a roll, I tidied the cockpit, removing the long redundant nylon handlebar bag mount, freeing up sufficient room for this cutesy baby blue Knog Nerd 5. Bringing the brands 50 lumen blinkey against the stem clamp for sharper aesthetics.
Sudden onset of sabre-tooth man-flu aside, serious outings haven’t been realistic due to icy roads and the fact those otherwise superb Continental studded tyres with 42mm casings are a non starter on the Ilpompino. On-One reckon 38mm is as big as the frame will accommodate and judging by the Schwalbe, I’m inclined to agree. That said; I’d be interested to hear from anyone with an IRO Rob Roy who’s managed this particular feat.
However, the Continentals work just dandy on ultra modern disc only cross and expedition tourers so long as you had super wide section fenders, or were prepared to forgo them altogether. Seeing as snow and Ice appears to be a seasonal regularity, I might add a set of 1.9s to the Univega’s wardrobe.
Snow-specific tyres are very much a niche product and priced accordingly but those I’ve used both on bicycles an motorcycles seem to work very well indeed. True, their additional weight means they’re a little more ponderous (like you’re going to mind, negotiating road/trails resembling skating rinks!) and pride can still come before a fall-turning a wheel in anger when entering snow covered roundabouts and junctions can result in slippage, or indeed a most undignified face-plant. However, employing a smooth, steady cadence, you’ll stand a sporting chance of remaining upright and smiling.
Received several requests for “Port-folio” work of late- businesses looking to exploit the poor economic conditions to their advantage. Every so often, I might slip something to a charitable organisation so long as I am credited accordingly but unless there’s some tangible economic reward, such requests are scooped into the spam. Old school barter is something entirely different and increasingly prevalent in situations where accepting cash doesn’t solve the problem at hand. A friend recently sorted my temperamental central heating in exchange for some family portrait photography. He wielded the spanners, I got behind the lens. My house is warm, his has some new photos-simple.
Last Tuesday was another case in point. Having finished work at a neighbours’ house, our cleaner knocked at the door needing help-she’d succumbed to a rear wheel flat and didn’t know where to begin. Bottom line, a new tyre and thorn resistant tube saw her bimbling home. Sure, I actively discourage people turning up and looking for a freebie but we pay her fairly and she reciprocates so declining to help would’ve been extremely churlish. Then there are others who just help themselves...
My sister often pops in to pass out after a hard night on the giggle juice. Most mark an end to a night's excess by savouring a Kebab or similar delicacy while stood in the taxi queue but I found her trying to toast bodyform towels in the comfort of my kitchen (!)
On that note, I’m off to test this not so little box of Muc -Off goodies.
Strangest of all was the curator’s collection of disused toilets. Having meandered chest-height through vile smelling waters while investigating disused military bunkers in Jersey, I couldn’t imagine their appeal. Public toilets often invite all manner of activities for which they weren’t intended. I recall as a very small child, my mother being frightened to enter one in Chelmsford because a woman was laid on the floor, threatening to commit suicide. I’ve found people unconscious, needles protruding as if javelin from their arms; overheard violent beatings and witnessed a host of similarly sinister events over the years.
Coinciding with the return journey of a ride to the now sorry looking remains of Danbury Palace came the full-bladder shuffle. Locals might contradict me but the hedge option wasn’t available so I persevered, dropping down the cassette to negotiate one final ascent before the leisure centre car park facilities.
Preferring the privacy of a cubicle, with desperation in the driving seat, I nudged the door open with these Polaris Bojo, deftly leaped over the trail of human excrement clearly leftover from an evening’s scatological scrabble and emptied my bladder, averting my gaze in an attempt to temper urges to vomit. 
Phone numbers touting sexual favours adorned the textured ceiling and I was torn between a sense of “so long as it’s confined to consenting parties” acceptance and downright revulsion. Broken sanitary facilities deepened this repugnancy but mercifully a bijous pack of baby wipes sits in the bottom of my pannier for such emergencies. Outside and in stark contrast, a steady precession of people carriers ferrying three generations of family sought their rightful places in the parking bays. 
A quick rummage through my lockable pannier unearthed the wipes and arsenal of LED lighting that might otherwise vanish. Reasoning I had deferred drafting a very specific, book project synopsis long enough, it was time to churn home at a more purposeful pace.
Un-tethering the tubby tourer, we rejoined the steady procession of mid afternoon traffic and I cursed myself for choosing 3/4lengths over traditional tights since the air temperature had plummeted to around three degrees, my calves steadily assuming the pallor of raw steak.
By contrast, these Michelin Country Rock were a prudent choice, moulding limpet like to the slimy, battle scarred asphalt. Identical in diameter to the Vittoria Randonneur trail, lighter, supple casings translating into a more spirited passage over paved surfaces while equally competent across dry, dusty trails. Forgoing the belt and braces Kevlar sandwich opens the door a little wider to the dreaded hiss but in my experience, this seems largely negated paired with thorn resistant tubes. Only time and some serious winter miles will tell… 
Budget squeezes are the default rationale’ for everything at the moment but the pothole infestation is running rampant locally- a moot point on the Univega with it’s buxom 1.75inch trail inspired Vittoria but super skinny road rubber calls for cat-like reflexes. 
Speaking of which, the Ilpompino’s front-end transplant might be on the backburner but I’m toying with the idea of a tyre swap-something 700x35 for super compliant passage over these inclement road surfaces and whipping the rear wheel round to take advantage of a more becoming, mid seventies gear ratio for those long, steady climbs that serve as an eloquent metaphor for life. 
Besides, I’ve long held an interest in massage/reflexology and look to invest in this particular discipline, although since I don’t come from a sports science or beauty therapy background, finding suitable foundation level courses is proving particularly elusive. I’ve sought out some background teaching materials for my own curiosity but need another stimulating vocation, supportive to my mainstay professions of word-smithery and lensmanship running in parallel.
Calling in at the spray-shop, another classy looking Cro-moly mountain bike frame caught my attention. Devoid of decals, I scoured the frame ends for clues as to its identity but to no avail. This was in for a wet spray, two-pac finish since removing the cross threaded Royce titanium bottom bracket would’ve meant re-cutting the bottom bracket shell (from British to the relatively rare Italian-a common fix but make sure you buy a few bottom brackets there and then since replacements are relatively tricky to find).
The alternative (assuming it had been a UN52/72 square taper pattern) is to install a pressure-fit model specifically designed for worn/stripped or otherwise damaged shells.
On the subject of wet and dry stuff, the squirt chain wax has held up well to everyday riding, typically returning 180miles from each application and aside from some congealed lumps nestling between the Univega’s cassette cluster; it has the good grace to drop off once contaminated with seasonal grime. 
The rider pictured blazing a trail through the 4pm December murk 
Unfortunately too many careless, uninsured and sometimes unlicensed/inebriated vehicle operatives walk away from court with a few casual nods of remorse to the judge. The mighty little 
The past ten days 
Its straight blade 
The song remains the same when it comes to several other marques. I’d like a Barry 
With a super sticky polymer base and EVA foam backing, this works to the same principle but lacked the 
Those other projects touched upon in my earlier entry have also shown some early signs of fruition so while the somewhat raucous, rowdy interlopers to this here domicile recount strange (albeit highly amusing) drunken tales from the lounge, I’
Even allowing for the technological trickle-down, £135 for a system this powerful is remarkable. More surprising are the diminutive dimensions of both head unit and seat-post mounted battery (although if you were feeling flush and yearned for eight-hour 
Winter also brings wet, smelly feet. Not everyone likes overshoes or indeed the 
The other avenue I’m (cautiously) keen to pursue in an artistic/semi commercial context is fine art/model photography…Traditionally this has proved a minefield thanks to the falling prices of high quality camera equipment attracting the unfavourable “Guy With Camera” who has no other objective than to letch at women for his own personal and deeply sordid gratification. Stories concerning this particularly unsavoury genre of male are legend-the most poignant example being of a model looking to expand her fashion portfolio. Having answered an advert, she arrived at the address (A dingy back street flat) to discover she was expected to assume a wealth of “Glamour” poses (Despite expressing in no uncertain terms she was only prepared to do fully clothed catalogue assignments). When she refused to pose on all fours wearing nothing but a G-string, 
Unfortunately, semi/professionals with proper credentials, location and a female 
Speaking of which, they’ll resist heavy rain to the tune of thirty, maybe forty minutes-depending on how we’re defining cloudburst but mercifully, things stay toasty inside and there’s no danger of extracting a limp, soggy liner come the ed of an inclement training run. For the feet, Altura have taken their night vision concept to the logical, if slightly quirky conclusion. Available in warm orange (my preference) or the acid trip neon yellow, they’re made of common or garden Coolmax and do most things very well, albeit not on the same terms as Merino wool. However, the safety aspect works best with 3/4lengths which might not be everyone’s first choice in the depths of winter-although again, this is highly dependant on where you are in the world…
Those two frames have emerged from the curing ovens with new red and blue liveries. I’m still none the wiser as to their heritage but the suspected Holdsworth was badly nibbled, especially along the chain and seat stays, disguised by a thicker coat of powder since the customer was reluctant to foot the bill for more extensive filler-based preparation. Graham noticed some imperfections in the final colour coat induced by the seepage of residual oils languishing within the tubes. 
Fearing another trip through the blast cabinet would induce structural damage (even left softening in the stripping tank overnight) he addressed this by rubbing flat and introducing further, light coats, passing through the oven once more.
John Doe’s chrome plate rear triangle and forks were of the lick and promise variety, vanishing with the introduction of gentle aluminium oxide particles. This was a moot point since the customer wasn’t looking to replicate the original effect and the parent metal gives a much better key for the colour coats.
