The Civilised Cyclist

I learnt in-the-saddle etiquette from my peers at Elgin Cycling Club, back in the late eighties. Whenever we, either as a bunch or in small groups, passed another cyclist we'd give a wave and/or (depending on our oxygen requirements) say hello. We'd even offer these cheery (cheer was weather dependent) greetings when the other cyclist was a complete stranger, and a complete stranger who was also a member of a rival club.

Waving Cyclist poster from: cafepress.co.uk

I am still in the hospitable habit. I'll greet pretty much any 'proper' cyclist I encounter -- young, old, in lycra or baggies, on carbon or rusty steel. I only switch off my social skills during the weekly commute (it would require far too much waving), otherwise I'm an amiable sort.

The same can't be said for most of the roadies I encounter around Edinburgh. The friendly types are becoming something of a rare breed. I'd estimate that around half of my greetings go unheeded. From those cold types the best I get in return is a glare or disdainful eye cast over my old and trusty (once re-bonded) Scott.

Perhaps these uncivilised sorts are too busy saving energy for the next Strava segment, or too engrossed in their dreams of Tour success to be polite? Perhaps waving, nodding and saying hello are old-fashioned habits and I'm a fogey stuck in my ways? Perhaps, but I'm going to carry on.

What's your policy on politeness? Does it breed camaraderie among us two-wheeled types or is it a waste of precious energy? Let me know in the comments below (or just ignore me and ride on by).

The Breakaway - Coffee Not Included

The Breakaway is available in paperback or ebook, has lots of mountains and you can buy it here. 

Coffee not included.

The Season's Cycle

I live my life by the season. That's not a spelling mistake, I don't mean seasons, plural, I mean the cycling season.

The Giro ended on Sunday so that means I'm currently in pre-summer. (You wouldn't know it by the weather, but that's a gripe for another blog.) That means there's a month until summer proper, i.e. the Tour. To get me through the intervening period I have the Tour de Suisse and the Dauphine. Then it's July, the high point of any year, the maillot jaune and matching fields of sunflowers, white, green and spotty jerseys, the Alps, the Pyrenees and eventually, the Champs Elysees.

The end of summer proper (pic: letour.fr)

The first Monday after the Tour will be flat and empty. I will steel myself and look toward an Indian summer, in Spain. La Vuelta will be a golden opportunity for the Scottish weather to redeem itself, for some riders to salvage a hitherto empty season or, for others, to build their form for the Worlds.

The Worlds: a rainbow through the flattening light of rapidly shortening days.

Lombardia, the race of the falling leaves, the inescapable reality that it really is almost over for another year.

By Paris-Tours I'll already have begun to taper down. In winter my attention will switch across the Atlantic, to San Francisco and the my other sport of choice. I'll sit up late on Sunday nights, munching nachos, getting sick of the endless adverts and praying that Colin Kaepernick has a return to form.

Kaep (pic: sportsworldnews.com)

Through the dark winter days I might cast half an eye at cyclo-cross and the six days, trying not to wish my life away.

I won't fully wake from hibernation until Paris-Nice begins its race toward the sun. By then I will be returned to the cycle, just weeks away from that classic time of year, the month of Milan San Remo, mud, cobbles, murs and bergs.

And as the last Ardenne is crested my mind will already racing ahead, to May, the Giro and another year come full circle.

Watching Through The Holes In The Net

(pic: Tim de Waele/TDWSport.com)

I was chatting to a friend about the Giro. It was the day of the stage to Aprica. We had (separately) concurred that whilst the racing was in some way entertaining we weren't cheering on any of the riders.

Both of us are sofa veterans of Festina, the death of Pantani, Puerto, Landis, Lance, EPO Cera, (etc, etc), fans who have had our trust broken one too many times.

I wondered if our hardened, cynical attitudes were spoiling the sport for us. If we ditched them, put aside all memory of what had gone before and just believed, would it be better, for us?

Searching For My Inner Tomac

Pic: retrobike.co.uk

When I were a lad ... I imagined that I climbed like Tim Gould and descended in the mad manner of John Tomac.

I've recently built up a fully rigid MTB that's like a super-powered version of the bike I used to do all that dreaming on, the kind of steed I dreamt about riding back in the late eighties. It's not been off road much but its few jaunts have been around my old haunts.

Mindful Cycling & The Power of Now

We've all been there (presumptive, I know), riding along, legs whirring round all showy souplesse or (more likely) painfully pedaling squares, and with a head full of chatter:

It's a tailwind. I'm not as fit as I thought. It's just the wind. Wait til I turn back. I'll be struggling. Why do I always get a headwind; why is it never a tailwind? Bloody wind. I'd be flying without the wind. What's that strange noise? That clicking. Sounds like termites. Termites, in carbon fibre? I should have cleaned my bike. I should clean my bike more often. Why am I so lazy? My legs hurt. So few miles covered and already my legs hurt. I should be fitter. I should train more. Why don't I train more? Why am I so lazy?

It can go on for miles and miles, a whole ride, easily, mental chatter that's more distracting than any creaking bottom bracket.

The solution? It's not taking better care of your bike, training more often, or even an end to headwinds (although all of those would be beneficial). The solution is mindfulness.

Turbo Tracks

You've got your turbo set up in the spare room or shed, there's a towel draped over the bars to catch the sweat, a fan set to overdrive to imitate that cooling headwind. All you need is to choose the soundtrack to this session of suffering. There's no doubt that turbo training is amply aided by good music but in these days of shuffle does anyone ever listen to an album all the way through? Here's a prod in the direction of five albums to coax you out of shuffle and onto the evil turbo.

1. “Tour de France Soundtracks” by Kraftwerk

Electro pioneers Kraftwerk recorded what must surely be the Großvater of all cycling-related albums. Tour de France Soundtracks takes the spirit and concept of their 1983 single Tour de France as its hub and expands eleven spokes outward to form an unashamed, spinning celebration of cycling’s greatest race. You only need to take a glance at the track listing to find yourself on familiar ground. From the opening Prologue, through Tour de France Etapes 1, 2 and 3, onto Chrono, Aéro Dynamik, and Titanium, this is an album that covers all bases, taking your turbo-session on a mini grand Tour adventure. The track Elektro Kardiogramm even has samples of a heavy-duty heartbeat and some laboured lungs at full puff, just in case you aren’t working your own hard enough. If cycling is poetry in motion then this album contains what is perhaps the best cycling poetry ever written:
“L'enfer du Nord Paris-Roubaix, /La Cote d'Azur et Saint Tropez, /Les Alpes et les Pyrennees, /Derniere etape Champs-Elysees.”