Guest blogger Bike Snob NYC clings to his sanity in winter
Angus gives his insight to his weekend in Tábor
I have mixed feelings after the Worlds. To sum it up, it just ended badly. There were some highlights in there. My manager Pieter giving me an Orval while the paramedic cleaned up my leg was one. Dinner with the boys after was good fun too. But the second half of my race went badly and the fact that I now have trouble walking has most certainly tainted my mood. The time, energy and preparation that you put into a race like this certainly increases the expectations, but of course you need to remember that everyone else in the race will be giving it 110% too.
Jack Thurston goes bike packing in a Wet, Windy Wales
With arrival of an email of a list of a couple of dozen grid references, each the location a ford across a stream or river somewhere in the hills of Mid-Wales, I knew I was in for a cold, wet January weekend. In a moment of ‘let’s blow away the cobwebs and do something different’ I’d entered myself into the Bear Bones Ford Fiesta, an overnight bikepacking event. The challenge was simple: to ride through many fords as possible and to spend a night under the stars.
Juliet Elliott's top rides of 2014
I must be getting old. Just like that, 2014 is over. I remember when I was a kid, the summer holidays lasted forever and Christmas always seemed an eternity away. I always hoped that those who told me ‘school days are the best of your life’ were far off the mark. Endless hours of maths, PE in sub zero temperatures wearing gym knickers and an airtex shirt; how could that be the best life had to offer? PE even made me think I wasn’t ‘sporty,’ but that’s another story for another time. Now I’m free from the horrors of netball, drinking at bus stops and GCSEs, I’m having more fun that ever and life seems to fly by. So they were wrong. I bloody knew it. School sucks and being a grown up rules.
Guest Blogger Bike Snob NYC's Day-After-New-Year's-Day Ride
It is traditional for cyclists to partake in a New Year’s Day ride, which is precisely why I leave the roads to the wobbly legions making good on their resolutions and sweating out their hangovers.
Instead, I skip the ride and take a walk on the beach, where I ask mighty Neptune to provide me with a sign of what to expect in the coming year. Last year his portent came in the form of hot dogs, while this year he presented me with this disembodied fish head.
A unique bicycle visits the B1866 London Store.
Across England, are towns and regions which are well known for manufacturing certain types of products and only a short cycle ride from the Brooks Smethwick works for instance, is the famous Birmingham Jewellery Quarter. If you need a sharp fitting suit, then London’s Savile Row is the place to go and for those who attended L’Eroica Britannia last June; will know that Bakewell is remembered for its tarts. Stopping right there, before I get into trouble. I’ll take you back to Savile Row, and while trying not to get confused with tarts and tailor’s, I shall tell you more.
Guest Blogger Bike Snob NYC Confronts His Demons
In the world of cycling, conventional wisdom states:
1) There’s no mountain biking in New York City;
2) Brooks saddles have no place on mountain bikes and only belong on twee touring cycles ridden by people who dress like they’re heading out to hunt pheasant;
3) If velocity is defined as the rate of change of position with respect to time, i.e. v = dx/dt, where v is velocity and x is the displacement vector, then there is a 100% chance that the triathlete will crash.
From deep in the gloom of November, Jack Thurston looks back over the year's most memorable rides
If there’s a month for armchair cycling it’s November. Emily Dickinson described it as ‘the Norway of the year’, which is a bit hard on Norway. November really is the gloomiest month. Dreary skies above, mud below – and not much in between. As an embalmer removes the blood from a corpse, the landscape is drained of its autumn colour. Spring seems inconceivable and we’ve not yet reached the frost-spangled glamour of midwinter. November promises little and delivers less. Even professional bike racers – men and women whose job it is to ride their bikes – take the month off.
This month Juliet questions her own sanity
Sometimes I wonder what on earth I’m doing. It’s cold, I’m tired and I need some time to relax and simply do nothing. But totally exhausted from a full week of work, I find myself pulling on lycra rather lounging in bed with a cup of tea.