Lovely road ride on Sunday. Lots of hills. Lots of sunshine. Lots of peace and just the odd miserable looking cyclist - yes you, roadies and you, mountain bikers, both equally grumpy looking - and in all the hills and bumps I climbed, I didn't chase anybody.
Yay for me. No carrots. No sticks. No need. It's kind of a small victory in a slightly bigger war.
In other news: the GiT is on the verge of being reborn. After three years of not really caring how or what I drove, the poxy, whispering, OE-type back-box pretty much fell off the Mk2 and, well, if you have a stainless Jetex just sat there, you really might as well use it. So on it went.
Hurrah for a familar, grumbly, deep-toned idle and that little hint of a hissing rasp at 2,000rpm or so and suddenly it sounds like a car. And all it really needs now is a branch manifold, the VT engine mount(s) and the TSR motor, with a big-valve head, cam, chip and all. You can take your poxy turbo diesel estates and shove 'em.
Hello spring. Missed ya.
Showing posts with label road. Show all posts
Showing posts with label road. Show all posts
Monday, 12 March 2012
Tuesday, 23 February 2010
Straight outta the door...
A quick and dirty post... yesterday's late afternoon ride turned into something slightly more ridiculous than intended. Took the Cross Rat, now with gears and bowled along the Old Woodhead Road - 'closed' by road works - into a ridiculous headwind, and then one thing led to another and suddenly I was riding up Home Moss - 'closed' by winter - and surrounded by gorgeous views of hunched, snowy hills. Over the icy top, hard look from the copper in the unmarked 4x4, and distant views down into Yarkshire.
At that point brain started whispering about a circuit over via Holmfirth, Strines and the Snake, but fortunately common sense won, so after a slug of Bowmore and some added facial protection, it was back down and homewards, except of course, well, yes, the Snake was 'closed' as well, so logically the sequel was a gentle roll to the top of that and back down again and home for toast and tea and venison bangers and mash.
Ace, kind of cold and bleak and windy and lonely but beautiful. And straight from the door. But really I should have done the Strines thing, maybe...
At that point brain started whispering about a circuit over via Holmfirth, Strines and the Snake, but fortunately common sense won, so after a slug of Bowmore and some added facial protection, it was back down and homewards, except of course, well, yes, the Snake was 'closed' as well, so logically the sequel was a gentle roll to the top of that and back down again and home for toast and tea and venison bangers and mash.
Ace, kind of cold and bleak and windy and lonely but beautiful. And straight from the door. But really I should have done the Strines thing, maybe...
Wednesday, 16 September 2009
I'm not riding with you on that monstrosity...
'I'm not riding with you on that monstrosity...'
Death sentence. For my budget Giant OCR2. I swear you could see it flinch.
Monstrosity? Cheap, yep. Harsh, yep. Fun to ride, er, nope. Not at all. In truth the OCR took to the Peak's pock-marked tarmac like a duck takes to, well, full contact karate. It hated the place.
On southern Spain's Botox-smooth, sinuous limestone roads, none of this mattered. But over here it felt like a low rent John Travolta clone trying to strut its stuff in a northern working men's club. More importantly, I hated riding it. Every other bike I own, well, I feel something for - warmth, fondness, whatever - but the Giant was a harsh, badly-fitting, wrist-cracking trial of patience at best and just painful at worst.
So it found itself on bike death row. Waiting. For something else to arrive and replace it.
And something turned out to be Planet X - Lynskey - Ti Race thing, a beautifully welded collection of matt-brushed titanium tubes recommended by a mate who ought to know as something that would have soul and smoothness in one. Speccing it was a step into the unknown, but it was built up with love and meandering procrastination - Campag Chorus 11 - 'it has to be Campag' - in a Spinal Tap stylee, FSA compact drops, USE finishing kit (free), Ksyrium SLs and, eventually, with help, gorgeous bar-tape from the lovely minxgirl.com. And no, not pink or with flowers on.
The best thing I ever bought.
There's a warmth to it that's hard to describe. It's supple, arrow fast, sharp but forgiving and next to a mountain bike, feels like a jet plane rushing down the runway for take-off. And every time I ride it, it makes me smile, which I never thought a road bike could or would.
Why? The speed. The liberating minimalism of riding without a pack. Sharp, synapse-shredding downs and leg-burning climbs and, above all, two other things: the sheer ability to cover distance at speed, 'we're where?' and being able to ride along chatting away with friends in a way you just can't on a mountain bike. Just lovely.
And it all started with what I thought was pure bike snobbery. And wasn't.
I'm never going to be a lithe, shaven-legged, graceful Tour wannabe. And I'll probably always feel a bit like a mountain biker on a road bike and look like one - no, there's no peak on my helmet - and I'm never going to be properly fast, too far gone and too slow for that, but who cares? Snap, click, go, pedal, straight out of the door. Every time, any time.
Road bikes are lovely. And lovely road bikes are the icing on the cake.
Death sentence. For my budget Giant OCR2. I swear you could see it flinch.
Monstrosity? Cheap, yep. Harsh, yep. Fun to ride, er, nope. Not at all. In truth the OCR took to the Peak's pock-marked tarmac like a duck takes to, well, full contact karate. It hated the place.
On southern Spain's Botox-smooth, sinuous limestone roads, none of this mattered. But over here it felt like a low rent John Travolta clone trying to strut its stuff in a northern working men's club. More importantly, I hated riding it. Every other bike I own, well, I feel something for - warmth, fondness, whatever - but the Giant was a harsh, badly-fitting, wrist-cracking trial of patience at best and just painful at worst.
So it found itself on bike death row. Waiting. For something else to arrive and replace it.
And something turned out to be Planet X - Lynskey - Ti Race thing, a beautifully welded collection of matt-brushed titanium tubes recommended by a mate who ought to know as something that would have soul and smoothness in one. Speccing it was a step into the unknown, but it was built up with love and meandering procrastination - Campag Chorus 11 - 'it has to be Campag' - in a Spinal Tap stylee, FSA compact drops, USE finishing kit (free), Ksyrium SLs and, eventually, with help, gorgeous bar-tape from the lovely minxgirl.com. And no, not pink or with flowers on.
The best thing I ever bought.
There's a warmth to it that's hard to describe. It's supple, arrow fast, sharp but forgiving and next to a mountain bike, feels like a jet plane rushing down the runway for take-off. And every time I ride it, it makes me smile, which I never thought a road bike could or would.
Why? The speed. The liberating minimalism of riding without a pack. Sharp, synapse-shredding downs and leg-burning climbs and, above all, two other things: the sheer ability to cover distance at speed, 'we're where?' and being able to ride along chatting away with friends in a way you just can't on a mountain bike. Just lovely.
And it all started with what I thought was pure bike snobbery. And wasn't.
I'm never going to be a lithe, shaven-legged, graceful Tour wannabe. And I'll probably always feel a bit like a mountain biker on a road bike and look like one - no, there's no peak on my helmet - and I'm never going to be properly fast, too far gone and too slow for that, but who cares? Snap, click, go, pedal, straight out of the door. Every time, any time.
Road bikes are lovely. And lovely road bikes are the icing on the cake.
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