dead times

groove

enjoyment

enjoyed
this

and am looking forward to this.

I enjoyed travelling here.

mud, girls, bikes

4ème Manche de CDM cyclo-cross from Petitesreines on Vimeo.

molloy and sons

Molloy & Sons: Heritage Tweed on Nowness.com.

the tsunami and the cherry blossom

are gears electric

This week Campagnolo launched its electric gear package, it looks bulky, clumsy and needs a battery. As someone who remembers Mektronic and its precursor Zap , I am not convinced.
Never and I repeat 'never' have I been on a ride and pondered, "I wish this gearshift was electric" and never have I heard a fellow rider desire such a component. Why oh why are we being subjected to this nonsense? It disappoints me, I love my Campagnolo but it would appear they too have been suckered into some tit for tat race to the lightest, shitest, electricist, expensivist and ugliest group set.

My bicycles are freedom, they allow me under the power of my own effort to ride away from a world that increasingly bludgeons me with technology. During the day if I am not at the wheel of a very comfortable and safe car, I'm staring into the ultra thin screen of this computer or tippy tapping a message on my blunderbuss phone. My bicycles do not need this interference, they remind me of the sheer beauty of my strength and my weakness.

I'm not going to dwell too much on this as I really would rather be riding my bike or sorting my shit out for tomorrows big ride or indeed finishing these crisps and that glass of wine, I just need to clear my head.

Gene Simmons summed it up in a recent interview in Mojo; “Technology is a seductive bitch, she will seduce you, you press this button, you don’t have to do anything. But analog is the love of your life. You can push real hard and it always gives back.”

Oh as an aside (listen up retro bikers), I have a boxed, Browning Automatic front transmission, never fitted to bike and for sale. Get in touch if you are interested, no reasonable offer refused.


And in other news:

      the fork detail, really looking forward to this.

vintage bikes and sun

something wicked this way comes

hot rod girls

over the hill

tg

always loved this photo

white man

little bike, little ride, big rain

kid creole

talk

verb [ intrans. ]speak in order to give information or express ideas or feelings; converse or communicate by spoken words : the two men talked |we'd sit and talk about jazz | it was no usetalking to Anthony | [ trans. ] you're talking rubbish.

"It's been ages since i went to see a band"

"I went to see one of them old punk bands, what were they called?"

"Sex Pistols"

"No"

"Damned"

"No, it'll come to me"

"Buzzcocks, that was it, they were terrible"

blokes phone rings. What is Love by Haddaway ringtone.

"Yeah there is a new restaurant in town, down from the station, Simon what's it called?"

"Oh, I can't remember, something French, I think"

"We were in the mosher pit at Kaiser Chiefs"

"Mosher Pit?"

"Yeah down the front"

blokes phone rings. What is Love by Haddaway ringtone.

"I saw David Bowie in March and he was gorgeous"

"Really!"

blokes phone rings. What is Love by Haddaway ringtone.

"I said to my friend today, you should see my underwear drawer, it's bloody chaos"

eavesdrop |ˈēvzˌdräp|verb ( -dropped , -dropping ) [ intrans. ]secretly listen to a conversation : she opened the window just enough to eavesdrop on the conversation outside.DERIVATIVESeavesdropper nounORIGIN early 17th cent.: back-formation from eavesdropper( late Middle English ) [a person who listens from under the eaves,] from the obsolete noun eavesdrop [the ground on to which water drips from the eaves,] probably from Old Norseupsardropi, from ups ‘eaves’ + dropi ‘a drop.’

are you glad to be in america

the opposite of epic

I rode my bike tonight.

it wasn't epic.

I rode my bike tonight,

I saw a woman with an bad expression on her face, it looked liked she needed a poo.

I heard an old bloke say, "cor blimey" followed by "gawd elp us" 

I saw a goth on a bike, proper goth, but with lycra shorts

I rode my bike tonight,

I looked at the land, 

smelled the soil, 

soaked up the sun, 

snarled at the wind, 

I bowed in awe at working sheepdogs and the shepherd

I grinned at the sweat on my brow

I rode up a dead end road, 

I rode on some virgin tarmac, 

I rode

it wasn't snowing

it wasn't raining

it wasn't brutal

it wasn't epic

 hotel notes

signs 

an english thing

the unexplored road 

 fertile land

I wanted this to read, Patterdale Sandwich

the dead end

 reward

my next album

miranda sawyer is feeling it

is it?
is it?

crash and burn

eating for a better life

is this it?

The other night I sat alone in a very busy restaurant/bar, there was a lively and non threatening atmosphere, people doing ok out with friends and family for a midweek meal and a drink. The split was roughly 70% male and mostly in the 35-50 age bracket. I was the only one sitting alone but I’m used to that as I travel a fair bit. People watching is a bad yet addictive habit and having being reading about the eating habits of pro cyclists I looked at this room full of strangers in a new light. They were packing away some fairly serious calories and virtually all of them had a waistline that they weren’t getting rid of in a hurry. Looking closer at their faces there was a sadness that seemed to coming from them all, maybe I was feeling melancholic. But the eyes were dead all wearing an alcohol mask whilst laughing and eating, I wondered what they saw when they looked back, if indeed they saw anything.

Earlier that day I had met up with a good friend and colleague Matt to steal a midweek mtb ride, it was warm night and the trails at Llandegla were dusty and dry. We rode round at a brisk but manageable pace, blethering and bitching and enjoying the sun. We talked a lot about life, families, work, bikes and our history and again I thought about calories. As I get older I think more about my calorie intake, I’m lucky I have always been relatively slim and since my mid 20’s have exercised pretty regular which has helped keep me that way. Prior to that however it could have been so very different. And one incident probably helped shape me more than any other.

the sight of a grown man stooped fixing a puncture fills me with hope

I was working in a deadbeat job and partying probably a bit too hard when I received a killer put down. I was described as being “puffy with the drink” now this smarted somewhat on two counts. Firstly I was and the truth does more often than not hurt, secondly, it was delivered by an out of condition, world hating Goth bitch who had more than her own fair share of ‘issues’ to sort out. However in this instance I am prepared to forgive but not forget, though I shrugged it off at the time it hit me quite hard. The same year I bought my first mtb and the rest as they say is history.

So back in the restaurant, I’m pondering my waist, my legs, my lungs, my puny arms and more importantly my mortality. I’m creeping up on 50 and the stats for Scottish men ain’t that good. I figure I got a good 10-15 years in me and then it will probably slide into a more serious state of decay. I am torn between doing my damnedest to make the most of it and keep my body and mind in shape or just blow my brain to pieces. Again I look at the folks eating and drinking, is this it?

To be continued.

jazz

Modern Jazz from Europe (April 2011 list) by Blast Kid The Jazz Kid on Mixcloud

lately I been riding my bikes, a bit.

this evenings ride

lovely little evening ride, lots of tarmac like the below,

loving the new roadster.

200 days till cross season

if I don't ride in it, I don't ride

Spring took a cruel twist this week, with limited time to ride, yesterday I found myself staring at a winter landscape once more, I could have wept having made the effort to get up early to squeeze a ride out of a weekday. So what's a guy to do? I had to man the fuck up and get on with it. As time was of the essence I choose an on/off route and took the cross bike (March and the cross bike still isn't hung up!) the first thing that struck me as I climbed away from the house was that it wasn't as cold, this was good, the winter was harsh to say the least but this was much fresher, I'm guessing around zero degrees at most. The snowy roads looked like they were going to be a liability but the Maxxis Raze tyres seemed to cut through the white stuff and find black stuff to hang onto, so my confidence grew. The first tarmac descent started gingerly but then having switched off the "safety first" button, I eased off the anchors and cranked up the gears, brilliant. The sound of the cross tyres cutting through the snow at an ever increasing speed had already made the ride worthwhile.
Off road was a different proposition, the lack of real low temperatures had left the fire roads soft but white, like semolina, where you can't see the lumps until your eating them, that was hard work but hard work as we all know has its rewards and again once pointing the bike downwards despite the minimal braking induced face aching smiles. More tarmac and this time deeper snow but with only a couple of minor slips I was really starting to enjoy myself. Most of the singletrack is protected by trees so it all rode sublimely with the occasional snow pocket around the corner to catch me out. Once home I found it hard not to keep smiling to myself for the rest of the day. This little ride turned into probably my most enjoyable ride of the year, so glad to have mad the effort.

brakes were worked hard

tarmac not pictured

heavenly singletrack

it was a day for happy glasses

despite the snow, this is pouring sunshine on me

sudanese vintage soul.

this has cheered me right up

thanks to Geeta Dayal for highlighting this.