Restoration, Relaxation and an Unwelcome Ressurection

Since taking delivery of the fabled frameset last Thursday, I have managed to uncover some clues as to its identity.Constructive vandalism courtesy of a wire brush revealed the numbers 3670 with the prefix J or possibly P stamped on the bottom bracket shell. I initially thought it a Hill Special from this era but further investigation suggests it’s a Holdsworth of similar vintage. The forks whilst not original are very fetching and period appropriate. Centre to top, the seat tube measures 23 inches whilst the top tube a more modest 21.5- nigh on perfect for my long in the leg, short in the torso proportions. Having mislaid my micrometer, I’m needing to confer with the previous owner regarding seat tube diameter. Tradition suggests 27.2 but I know of quite a few builders who opted in favour of 27.0 so as to preserve tube-wall thickness.

Sharon (my girlfriend) masterminded colour selection and we’ve entrusted Maldon Shotblasting and Powder Coating with the task of blast cleaning and applying paint code 5012 to its tubes- a slightly different shade to the existing, neatly brush painted Greeves “Mooreland" blue in the photographs. For the uninitiated, Greeves were a highly respected small-scale British manufacturer of trials motorcycles, regarded by many as being ahead of their time before managerial incompetence, more dependable Japanese imports and widespread car ownership sounded the industry’s death knell in the early 1970s.

Joshua now seems convinced Santa will arrive astride a 50’s Road Path Bike sporting studded snow tyres and towing a 4130 cro-moly trailer full of goodies (five year olds are blissfully unaware of the present economic climate!). Followers in North America and cooler European climes will be laughing uncontrollably at the suggestion the UK has snow, let alone cold snaps. Having spent some of my formative years in Utah, I know the true meaning of chill winters- snow chains on cars until late spring, the sound of snow-blowers racing around suburban lawns etc, etc. Here in England, the merest mention of the white stuff grounds the nation and its infrastructure to a resounding halt!

Ignoring the mirth and mockery for a moment, we’ve been chasing through the lanes, I captaining the faithful, geared Univega RTB (wouldn’t manage trailer tugging’ in these parts on a fixed given the gradients) and my young apprentice aboard the single speed tag-a-long. I get some resistance training whilst he indulges in the scenery, a growing passion for cycling and there's usually opportunity for both to reflect upon life in general. In fairness, so long as we regularly brake for cake and something warming he’ll motor up the climbs like the proverbial mountain goat.

Chrome three piece BMX cranks limit scope for pedal upgrades so I might drill the OEM resin units to accommodate clips and straps, providing more efficient power transfer and maybe Santa will have a budget suspension seat post in his trailer....

Four miles across the water stands the now decommissioned Bradwell Power Station being the UK’s first phase one nuclear power plant constructed in 1963. The location was chosen given the sea effected cooling for the reactors. My late grandfather was one of a team of highly skilled welders who fabricated the Magnox unit. His initial excitement at being chosen for the project soon turned to guilt upon uncovering how potentially lethal the technology was.

Towards the end of his life and despite crippling illness, he revealed how they were building to a maximum design life of twenty five years. The notorious Magnox reactor had been in continuous service for considerably longer before the official decommissioning in 2002, courting further controversy when Nyrex proposed a nuclear waste dump at the site some sixteen years previously.

Local protests saw the project shelved but the regret of not putting down the torch, turning off the shielding gas and walking away tormented my grandfather until his death in 1998.

Once again, the site is being earmarked by the nuclear industry for new generation reactor despite mounting local opposition. It is widely acknowledged that fossil fuels cannot last indefinitely; neither should they be depleted to the point of exhaustion.

However, nuclear energy opens a real Pandora’s Box- as Three Mile Island and Chernobyl clearly illustrate. There are many alternatives but it would appear once more, the commercial interests of the few are riding roughshod over the welfare of millions.

Road Path To Restoration & Cross Dressin'

After some eighteen months of angst, hand wringing and several failed attempts, a friend has managed to rescue and gift to me the classic plain gauge 531 road-path frame that had been languishing in a friend of a friend’s ex-wife’s garage for nigh on a decade. Hand finished in Greeves “Mooreland Blue” it is remarkably well preserved save for some very minute traces of surface rust. Now rare, “Road Path” bikes were a genre of performance, fixed gear track machine with more relaxed frame angles and wheelbases, designed to double as capable working bikes in the post war period where few skilled workers could afford two bikes and car ownership was still very low in the UK.

Something of an orphan, little is known of this bike’s history or indeed it’s origins. Given my feeling that decals only serve to inform thieves your bike is worth stealing, this is not intended as a concours restoration, rather I seek to build a minimalist (single brake) fixie for time trailing and sunny day fun. Curious as to its heritage I took note of the frame number before it becomes hidden beneath a luxuriously thick powder coated finish-the most cost effective way of getting a durable and yet very alluring re-spray on my limited budget. However, it will remain a seductive ornament until I can harvest sufficient, suitably alluring and period sensitive components from various spares bins.

Regulars in the congregation could be forgiven for thinking otherwise but Michael cannot live by road path bike alone and so I've been popping out to savour the early season cyclo cross racing. Despite a small tide of cross-practical fixers from the like of Specialized, Surly, Bianchi, IRO and On-One, they're pretty thin on the ground at most meets. Whilst not the obvious choice for antics beyond asphalt, the transmission's simplicity makes for an extremely robust and dependable drivetrain when things get gloopy. Given conditions frequently demand riders dismount and carry their bikes, fixed enjoys a serious weight advantage over their (over) geared rivals.


It is easy to draw parallels between cross and fixed scenes. Races are undeniably competitive but riders take their fun seriously with an atmosphere suitably convivial to entice everyone. You'll find first category road racers looking to retain fitness in the darker months, mountain bikers looking for some skinny tyre action right through to children and those just wanting to try a cheap and accessible branch of cycle sport.

Start lines are nothing like the movies, £2,000 ti cross thorough breads rub shoulders with battle scarred, pared to the essentials tourers/hybrids shod with cross tyres and various incarnations of mtb. Despite owning a traditional geared crosser complete with carbon fork, I find myself drawn by the spirit of the road/path tradition to shod the Ilpompino with 35mm cross rubber, pin on a race number and join them all on the start line. Raised eyebrows? Possibly but Ilpompinos, Rob Roys, single speed Tri-Cross and Bianchi San Jose’s are in essence cross framesets with track ends, rack and fender mounts...

I’ll leave you to mull this one over….

Next Week: Restoration gets underway

Season of the Witch

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in cyberspace to denounce the derailleur as the devil’s device, a product conceived from the secretions of Satan himself…Well, you’d be forgiven for thinking so given the slightly fundamentalist viewpoints expressed by some of the fixed gear faithful. Make no mistake, I love riding fixed but as my MTB derived rough stuff touring bike bears testimony, I’m no puritanical zealot.



No, this week I’m taking a seasonal look at night riding. My phenomenal nocturnal mileage leads my five year old to conclude his daddy is a vampire-something he is only to pleased to tell his teacher... Maybe it was colossal horror film consumption during my teens but the dark holds a particular magnetism. I like the silence of the lanes, the opportunity to muse and mull things over in the witching hour. Riding even familiar routes under the cover of darkness invites not only reflection but a whole new cycling experience.

The rustling in the hedgerows, monk jack dear cantering out from the fields and across my path, deserted military/farm buildings, monasteries etc never fail to get the heart racing and thought processes flowing like Niagara falls. It was precisely these nocturnal antics that prompted me to draft a short story about a man who unwittingly unlocks the door to a parallel universe. Sprinting through the lanes on his winter training bike (yes-it’s a fixed) late one night, hitting 26.4mph at a given spot he discovers the ability to travel- between 1967 and the present day and ultimately leading a dual life (an accusation levelled at myself on occasion).

I must confess a healthy fascination for the supernatural, thanks in part to my formative years spent in the Anglia region of the UK which enjoys a reputation for ghosts and things that go bump in the night... Legend has it; the devil’s dog “Black Shuck” roams the East Anglian and North Essex coastlines. Black Shuck reputedly travelled with the Vikings, terrorising the Norfolk region. Anyone making eye contact with the beast is said to die within twelve months. Now the reasoned, bespectacled sceptic within me rationalises this sort of folklore as convenient deterrent used by smugglers in days of yore to keep their activities clandestine.




Countless sightings over the decades has lead many a driver, motorcyclist and horse-rider to run over him, only to find he vanishes into the darkness- do I subscribe to the legend? Maybe not wholesale but I remain open to the concept of a dimension we do not fully understand and shouldn’t meddle with. I may have unwittingly encountered Shuck myself on a cold January night in 1999. Carving into the corners that typify the back roads leading to my mother’s house, lighting system on full beam, two piercing eyes glared at me from the verge. Drawing closer revealed something of wolf-like stature which promptly vanished into the night.



I wouldn’t rule out tiredness or an over indulgence in coca-cola on my part but there’s plenty of cyclists who seem to share an affinity with the mythical creature- disappearing with the darkness. Unlike Shuck, an encounter with one of Henry Ford's finest is unlikely to leave them unscathed. These stealth riders breeze through the night without so much as a blinker to advertise their presence. Given the advances in technology and tumbling prices, there’s no excuse to be sans illumination. Sure, even the best systems can unexpectedly fail but that’s entirely different from a wilful and extremely foolish flouting of the law.



I'm fully aware some driver behaviour is appalling and gaining a car licence seems preoccupied with passing the test-considered something of a right, rather than a privilege. Until this mindset changes, careless and sometimes wantonly reckless drivers can simply escape prosecution through loopholes in road traffic legislation. However, we mustn't allow this rationale' to justify or condone irresponsible riding.

I have a particular fondness for high power Ni-MH, Li-on and lead acid battery systems-especially for unlit roads and very cheerful budget models can be had for around the £50 ($90) mark. LED lights are so inexpensive and just as frugal to run. However, a great many do not comply with the British Standard- despite their performance. Technically, in flashing mode they are illegal but most police agree it would be a very cruel cop who booked you. US law as I understand it, prohibits flashing red beams but the interpretation of such varies from state to state.


My all-time favourite lighting system has to be the dynohub. These have improved beyond recognition since the old Sturmy archer units. Shimano’s venerable nexus and greatly refined Ultegra and Alfine stable mates offer bright, rider generated light on tap coupled with nominal drag. Super smooth annular contact bearings translate into a serene, fluid self-sufficiency that marries perfectly with the oft-quoted zen-like purity of a fixed transmission-there’s even a disc mount option!


True, hub dynamos require building into a wheel and carry a slight weight penalty over other systems but there’s no messy wiring to snag if you only power a front lamp. Even factoring the cost of wheel building, regular night owls will recoup their initial outlay within a season.



Jackets, tights and knickers are commonly impregnated with discrete, yet effective scotchlite reflectives eliminating the need for gaudy day-glow yellows (although I stow such a shower-proof training jacket in my seat pack/ pannier in case of emergency.) These technological advances mean an end to dressing up like mobile Christmas trees on acid. That said there's only 59 shopping days until December the 25th.

Hmm, an October 31st alley cat through New Orleans' french quarter...Bet that'd be fast-paced!

Happy Halloween!

Welcome to the Velodrome...I was too sick to attend the show

Whilst the fellowship of road fixers enjoys seemingly ever fertile ranks, the disciples of UK track racing, despite enjoying an elevated profile thanks to recent Olympic success feel something of a poor relation at grass roots level. The disciplines and rituals being treated with a suspicion usually reserved for religious cults rather than an exciting and relatively inexpensive branch of the sport.

Herne Hill velodrome is situated in an affluent, leafy suburb of an otherwise tough and uncompromising inner London Borough. A far cry from the post war hey days where it regularly enthralled crowds in their thousands-especially at Good Friday meets, it now limps from funding crisis to threatened closure. Casting sentiment aside for a moment, balance sheet valuation would suggest turning the site over to a developer for luxury housing-infinitely more profitable, even in the present economic climate.

Weary porta cabins soldier on as Spartan, yet serviceable office and toilet blocks. Behind lie huge steel containers playing host to a tired, unglamorous but reliable gas-pipe hire/training fleet, nine Meriden built Triumph Thunderbird 650cc motorcycles from a by-gone era where riders drafted behind, turning knee shattering gears in the hope of setting/breaking speed/distance records.

Another entertains motorised two-stroke bicycles known generically as "Dernys" originating in France and are now manufactured in the Netherlands. These were designed to pace the riders along- a common sight at six-day races and still do a turn at club-track meets thanks to the skill of some endearing, fanatical and dare I say, pleasantly eccentric pilots.

I have a certain fondness for the spectacle and excitement that such racing presents but through critical eyes, I can appreciate in these image conscious times how this might be perceived as quaint and comical-especially amongst a teenage audience where image is nigh on paramount.

I taught the rudiments of track racing (in an assistant capacity) for a couple of years-predominantly to this age group. Some were from very affluent homes and rode top-end Merlin’s, Trek, Specialized etc to school and at the other extreme were kids from the school of the streets- Tough, knowing and yet curiously naive/vulnerable at the same time.

Getting past the latter group's surly insolence; wise cracking and persuading them aboard the hard used track iron brought a miraculous transformation. Initially, it was outright fear that gripped them, their veins coursing with adrenalin and a sense of the unknown as they held tentatively to the guard rail. One by one, they gingerly set off, the fixed transmission responding to their every pedal stroke. Even the most nonchalant cultivated ear-to ear grins, their hardened devil-may-care cynicism replaced by a new found sense of wonder as they powered with escalating confidence around the circuit.

It was ironic, if unsurprising that the fastest learners were often the biggest pains in the ass and this occasionally leads to misadventure… One such convert in a moment of euphoria, threw his arms skyward in a victory celebration that would’ve rivalled a pro’s…For a split second he attempted to freewheel across the line, locking the transmission and pitching himself unceremoniously over the bars. Aside from shock and some minor laceration, he went on to compete in another race.

Most of those I tutored rapidly developed a new found respect and fascination for cycling and indeed, themselves-even the more timid and those with self-esteem difficulties came out of their shells to ride as if their lives depended on it, begging for that “One last lap” before the session closed. For this audience, I think the displays of velodrome tradition would’ve alienated as many as it inspired, leaving impressions of an elitist and eccentric activity that fails to connect with their view of the world.

The all weather surface lain in 1994 was designed for low maintenance as removed from four season’s competition and takes several days to blast clean with high pressure water jets come the spring. There’s been much talk of reconstruction involving an enclosed stadium rather like Manchester, catering for year round racing, a much higher profile and revenue to boot. However, cycling and niche disciplines are funded accordingly.

Let’s be clear, I am in no way detracting from the phenomenal time and energy put into the site by clubs such as VC Londres, Friends of Herne Hill Velodrome and many, many others. However, I am hoping that the resurgence in the road scene, courier chic and the underground alley cats, messenger Olympics etc might inspire more to give track a try.

Affordable machines like Fuji’s aptly named track are venerable, road-legal mounts more than capable of velodrome duties straight from the crate. Purists will doubtless disagree but for me, the messenger racing scene is a force for good and has the power through the medium of "cool" to bring about a marked turnaround in fortunes for struggling stadiums.

One Track Mind

I get a jugular buzz, would gladly kill for your love, can’t keep my eyes on you, you know you’re something new… Johnny Thunders

I concede I am a desperate junkie eternally looking for a fix. This addiction to all things two-wheeled knows not restraint. It starts innocently enough with the purchase of that entry level bike. Before long you're trying to beat the buzz from the last ride, little by little components are upgraded. That non descript, yet adequate black 10cm stem is replaced by a high lustre 9.5cm, 7 degree rise offering with ti fasteners, the bog standard, no-name single bolt seat post substituted for a 200g twin bolt, lazer etched unit, SPDs in favour of the OEM pedals and so the evolution continues.

Unable to resist that high end cro-moly frameset with a finish that has half the street salivating, the drawer that once played host to a collection of contact points and a pair of pedals has spawned a particularly fertile spares bin, reproducing on a seemingly weekly basis…

Suddenly, there’s a machine for all occasions, the back bedroom’s bulging, friends and family are finding their garages and basements colonised and you’re getting cold sweats at the thought of them having a clear out. Back in the late 80’s I knew of a man known affectionately as “Mad” Mark Silver. Mark’s passion was tandems and he had so many that Sedis (his Cat) moved out (!) An old school friend’s father had a similar love of Vespa scooters and must’ve spent twenty five consecutive years in his garage. We reasoned in our late teens that he clearly visited the house every now and then-after all he had two children...


Having lived in Utah and later California, I am very aware those of you based in the States are blessed by much larger houses with garages of equal proportion. In England a three bed house, modest garage and thirty metre rear garden is pretty much the limit for most ordinary folk. Oh for a dry basement and a workshop measuring 40ft x 20ft boasting heating, light, power and super fast broadband.

Obviously some recycling goes on amongst the fleet- the working bike/beater being the most frequent beneficiary but surplus stock is usually retained on the justification that it “ Might just come in handy”.

Typing this column has unbridled the beast of rationality, the one that roars " Liquidate some of your unwanted stock and plough the proceeds into new projects/ your latest heart's desire". The default medium is eBay but the prevalence of scams deters me- a shame given there's some mighty fetching framesets cropping up from time to time. Swap meets are another very obvious outlet but aren't nearly so popular in the UK which enjoys a tradition of cycle jumbles.

These are typically held at track/road race meets, manifesting themselves as table top sales full of older/unwanted kit. Quaint and often the place for a bargain but I like the underlying principle behind swap meets. There’s a whole heap of otherwise good stuff I could live without and a fair bit I would like to exchange it for. This compulsion is unlikely to find me lying dead in a New Orleans hotel room but like most dependency, it is probably quite wrong and conducive to a sticky end.

Elsewhere, Project Road Path has stepped up a gear. At the time of posting, the frameset remains firmly in the depths of an unnamed garage but I have found a suitable refinisher delighted to entertain the restoration. He even went to the trouble of taking me on a tour of the workshop, demonstrating the choice of chemical strip or gentle, yet effective vapour blast on a customer's aluminium frame. Threads are all masked off and cleaned thoroughly post painting and I can pretty much have any colour I please for the princely sum of £50...Watch this space...

Next: Let me go to the show- all the fun of the Cycle 2008 exhibition

Charitable Disposition

Fancy a tour of the former Soviet nations, turning a 76 inch gear and towing a laden Bob Yak? Dependant upon your persuasion, it’s either an amazing adventure forming the basis of a brilliant book, or a self indulgent, ego fuelled Gothic fantasy. Frankly, I think the former and all the more worthy if a charitable cause were to benefit (presumably a bonus could be negotiated for every border control you streak past…).

I'm no do-good er by any stretch of the imagination but feel we should all give to something, whether this by way of time or monetary donation. The sudden and totally unexpected death of my father last August prompted several months of soul searching, resulting in a planned ride to the summit of Mt Ventoux on behalf of Barnardo's the children's charity. Yes, I had intended the climb aboard a fixed (albeit using a 5 speed hub- is that the sound of sponsorship forms being torn to pieces?).

This doesn't merit further discussion here, primarily as the trip has been postponed for personal reasons and I’ve no time or respect for self indulgent bar room bravado.

The phrase "charity" conjures up images of massed start rides demanding months of administrative preparation. For many of us this is simply impractical. How about the members of your Tuesday night chain-gang chipping in a dollar for some worthy cause-it could be for a local hospice facing closure, granting a terminally ill child one special wish or simply treating a member of the group who's been going through the mill. Hell, why not build yourselves a collective hardship fund?

Components usually fail at the least opportune moment-often coinciding with an expiring washing machine/car/TV and/or tax demand. Sure, such schemes are open to abuse but managed properly, everyone benefits. Members of the group finding things tough could be gifted a new tyre/hub/chain etc to keep 'em rolling through the hard times. Come the end of the year, any surplus could be donated to a mutually agreed cause.

Sometimes bad things happen because good folk have done nothing....

Rides of the Falling Leaves-The Joys of Autumn

Autumn with its vibrant colours and falling leaves has always held very positive association for me. As a child, it signalled the arrival of another birthday and comensurate excitement. In early adulthood, I associated the season with times of great freedom and personal growth-leaving a small village for the big, not so bad city and a University education.

In a cycling context, there’s always been something quite exciting about hanging the best bike up, pampering the well dressed winter mount with fresh bar tape, new tyres, chain etc. I enjoy being reunited with my winter wardrobe, the silence of the lanes in the cold, bright mornings often contradicted by the strong and warming sunlight. True, there are fewer daylight hours but the advances (and falling prices) in lighting technology opens up a whole new dimension of riding pleasure.

October remains a very significant time in the trade calendar and I’m eagerly anticipating acres of shiny bike porn at the Cycle 2008 exhibition (held in London’s Earl’s Court between the 9th and 12th). Whilst on a smaller scale than Interbike, there’s still plenty to see with most larger manufacturers boasting a road biased fixer in their range.

Retro was very much en vogue at last year’s show with Condor’s Paris Galibrier and some very attractive steel offerings from the like of Fixie Inc. I was pleasantly surprised to find a stand of frames fashioned from Tange Prestige- a high end tubeset last commercially popular in the late 1980s. Most notable was a minimalist frameset finished in baby blue with chrome detailing-a great platform for a sunny days plaything.

Meanwhile, project road path,-my 1950’s TT build has ground to a temporary halt, complicated by virtue of said frameset residing in a friend of a friend‘s ex-wife‘s garage. At the time of composition, I’d stand a better chance of streaking through eastern block border controls than successfully retrieving it.

By way of distraction, I am channelling my energies into finding a suitable refinisher. Pageant blue powder coat leads the bunch at the time of this entry. Not sure whether to plump for a high lustre quill stem or to follow the modern Ahead and adaptor route. However, the cockpit will feature low pro/TT bars, colour coordinated bar wrap with reverse action lever and long reach dual-pivot sidepull taking the strain out of stopping.

Elsewhere an unused track crankset, Wellgo pedals, Miche chain, nearly new EAI superstar sprocket, Brooks saddle and Campagnolo seat post will play starring roles in this low budget, high thrills feature. Watch this space....

Next: Raising money for charity and a full report from Cycle 2008

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