I See Bicycles

I see bicycles everywhere I go, even Venice, where there aren't any. I'm just back from a short break to that most amazing city, during which my better-cultured half dragged me to the Peggy Guggenheim Collection. Peggy Guggenheim was an American heiress who liked nothing more than to lounge around with her Lhasa Apsos, surrounded by exclusive/expensive modern art. Peg popped her clogs in 1979 and the Guggenheim Foundation opened her palazzo to the public. 

I'm not averse to modern art, just don't know much about it. My eye gets drawn to the things I like, visually - I'm simple like that (and in many other ways). As a result of this simplicity my favourites of Peggy's pieces were the Jackson Pollocks (which, to me, are mentally soundtracked by The Stone Roses - cheers John Squire), and these two below.

My main interest was the subject matter but I did appreciate the art, honest. Anyway, I'm not about to offer a critique, just thought I'd put them out there so you could join in the appreciation.

Thanks, Peggy.

Il Ciclista by Mario Strovai

Au Velodrome by Jean Metzinger

Ventoux by Bert Wagendorp - A Nano Book Review

Ventoux is a coming of (middle) age tale by Bert Wagendorp, the Dutch journalist and author.

The story is Narrated by Bart Hoffman, one of a group of 40-something men who take a nostalgic trip to Provence, 20 years after their first visit. Their purpose there is to confront the ghosts of their past and, most importantly, to see if they still have what it takes to ride up the Mountain of Death.

It's a great read, philosophical in places, funny at times, dark at other, and jam-packed full of cycling.

What's not to like?

Here's a quote to whet your appetite:

And another:

And here's the trailer for the movie adaptation:

Morning Blog - The Importance of a Good Strava Title

It may just be the writer in me (or that I am full of awesome ideas) but I really think more emphasis should be placed on the titling of Strava rides.

When you save an activity, Strava allows you to change the post's title. Morning Ride, Afternoon Ride, Evening Ride (and, I'm assuming, Middle of the Night Ride, for the shift-workers) are perfectly perfunctory but they don't tell the poster or their Strava followers anything of use.

A Strava title should be a nano-synopsis of your ride, a distillation of its essence. It should sum up the experience or at at least give a little insight into what took place over those, however many, miles.

And it's not just about entertaining your followers; think of it as a form of mindful cycling. Every bike ride has, or should have, it's own story. No two rides are ever the same, from the weather to the way your legs feel. Your Morning Ride might only have been 10 miles long but there must have been something about it you could share, from bravely battling the cold northerly wind, to overtaking the number 27 bus and getting a smile from a girl on board (I can dream, right?).

The more you consider your rides, the more you will get out of them. If you constantly use default titles then you'll constantly have default rides.

Here are a few examples to inspire (or otherwise):

The Long Dark Bike Ride of the Soul
Gloves in a Cold Climate
Gone With the Cross Wind
One Hundred Kilometres of Solitude
________________________________________________________________________________

Enjoyed that nonsense? Try this:

Mindful Cycling & The Power of Now

Tour o' the Borders 2015

On Sunday, 9th August the Tour o’ the Borders sportive will be back, for it’s 4th edition. For 2015 this firm favourite Borders biking event has (in Tesco Bank) a new headline sponsor and a new route.

The old course was something of a challenge. I’d heard rumour that the new update was better (i.e. tougher) and wanted to find out what the event’s 2,000 participants were in for.

As usual, the route starts and finishes in Peebles, the small market town that’s become synonymous with two-wheeled pursuits. I headed south, over the Tweed, following a small back road that climbed the Manor valley, a gentle introduction to a route packed with ascents.

The scenery was already distracting, all around me that Borders tartan of purple heather, blue sky and water, silver-grey scree and vibrant-green grass.

A brief stretch on the main road and I swooped down passed Stobo before a right turn up the Dreva. My climbing was rewarded with a fast descent and jaw-dropping views along the upper Tweed valley. Like any Borders ride I could have spent my entire time gawping at the horizon, shouting (to the sheep; there was no on else): “look at the view!”

The single-track road soon delivered me onto a junction with the A701, where a sign tempted with a right turn to the Laurel Bank Tea Room. I resisted and turned left, along the valley to Moffat.

Riding solo into the wind, I tried to maintain a decent pace but was anxious of the toil to come. During the Tour, that would be a good point to join a group and share the wind-breaking effort.

I settled in to a rhythm, soaked up the sun and soon enough the rolling road delivered me to the turn to Talla. The reservoir’s vast body of dark, sparkling, water provided a heavy, calming presence off my right shoulder. And I needed a little sedation.

The Talla Wall is new to the Tour route. I could see it from miles distant, a thin scar at the head of the valley, angled unrealistically upward.  Just near its foot a motorbike roared passed, then came the sound of its engine struggling. I was out the saddle the whole way (through necessity more than choice), wrestling bike and gradient. Talla is amongst Scotland’s best climbs, better suited to the Italian Alps and a sadistic corsa rosa, one Tour veterans won’t forget in a hurry.

The Wall’s top brought oxygen debt, lactate overload, cool air, views to rival the last lot and one heck of a descent. Gilet zipped up, bidon half-emptied and I was off. Once again the Tour will be ridden on roads closed to other traffic, leaving riders free to take racing lines, providing speeds to compensate for the Wall crawl.

I turned onto the main road at St Mary’s Loch, the tailwind welcome, down time in which to eat, drink and spin out the legs. Just as well: the next climb was approaching fast.

A left over the Yarrow Water at the Gordon Arms (there’ll be a feed station there during the Tour) and onto the Berry Bush.  It’s one of those ascents where you think: the top must be round the next corner. Except it’s not; same goes for the next corner, and the one after. See that road, far in the distance, right up by the top treeline?

I got there, eventually, glad of the next descent, the turn at Crosslee and another tailwind. I raced along the Ettrick Valley and then onto the Witchyknowe, another Borders legend climb, and one that’s featured in previous Tour routes. I’d ridden it a few times before, usually fresher. With all the day’s hills and miles in my legs it matched its reputation.

Over the top and Newton’s Law of Cycling was back in play: what goes up must go down -- a descent that makes like a blast down the Seven Stanes’ Spooky Wood (minus the berms).

Back over the Yarrow, along the undulating valley road and another right at the Gordon Arms -- this time up the Paddock Slacks. I knew it would be my day’s last serious ascent and my stiffening legs were glad. Make it over and I’d be (almost) home and dry.

Make it I did, rushing down passed Traquair and onto the Cardrona road, Peebles in my sights. A touch of cramp on that little rise passed Kailzie and it was over.

74 miles covered, sufficient climbing (approaching 5000 feet) and descending for a decent Tour de France stage, plus scenery to rival any on the planet; the new Tour o’ the Borders route is even better than the last, and that’s saying something.

A link to my ride on Strava here.

Tesco Bank Tour 0’ the Borders
tourotheborders.com
Sunday 9th August 2015
Entry cost: £58

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.