Riding Through The Death Rattle

Ridden to death

Ever been through one of those bicycle maintenance episodes that leaves you wishing you hadn't bothered/had just bought a new bike/had taken up jogging instead of cycling?

Mine started three weeks ago with a new headset. I tend to ride my bikes/components to death. The headset on my trusty 10-year-old Scott CR1 had died and been reincarnated four times over. Off to my local shop (Bicycle Works, Edinburgh) I went. On the way there my chain snapped.

Polychrome People

Eight stories, one massive, multi-coloured cloud 

PolychromePeople 

To each their own view of the mysterious cloud's innumerable, shifting shades. For some it's a brief distraction — snap, swipe, share — for others an excuse to party, a nuisance, an evil portent or an act of international terrorism. For an exclusive few the fog is an opportunity, a moment of enchantment and a chance to change.

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Middle-aged misanthrope Spike is spying on his neighbours, cursing the passing of time, the indie kids and his useless crippled legs. 

Alina is a Polish emigrant with an unshakable belief in art, romance and the meaning of names. 

The Things are morbidly obese, housebound chain smokers who owe it all to Granny's gargantuan pile. 

TV journalist Sara's personal crisis crashes head on into Haruka, the most glamorous weather girl in Japan. 

Octogenarian war-veteran Walter is crippled by the fear of a secret past that's fast catching up. 

Mikey is an ex-pro footballer, cursing the cloud, the career and the goth girl that got away.

Travellers Sean and Ruth are stuck, grounded by a mess of blue felt and a momentous decision. 

Leila is searching for a little shit of a dog called Arthur and the last few scraps of her evanescing self.

The Breakaway - Cycling the Mountains of the Tour de France

Cycling the Mountains of the Tour de France

Click here to buy the book or download a sample or just search "The Breakaway" at Amazon.

At some point in their life every amateur cyclist dreams of riding the high roads of the Tour de France,
discovering first-hand what it’s like to tackle Alpe D’Huez or the Tourmalet.

Not many cyclists ever get round to turning that notion into reality. Author Rolf Rae-Hansen and his best friend did just that, and to Alpe D and the Tourmalet they added another 33 of cycling’s most feared and revered mountain passes.

Just days into their adventure it became clear that these two distinctly amateur cyclists had bitten off more mountain than they could comfortably chew. As they ticked off the climbs one by one, their friendship was tested to, and then beyond, destruction.

Through moments of laughter, sadness and exhilaration, Rolf Rae-Hansen documents the highs and lows of tackling the biggest names in cycling, from the Stelvio to Alpe D’Huez, to Mont Ventoux and the Tourmalet.

With themes both personal and universal, The Breakaway is a book for cyclists and non-cyclists, a story of (mis)adventure, friendship and overcoming grief.

“Not only had I an insatiable desire for the mountains, I also had a newfound respect, a realisation that from now on the names I would champion would be those from the parcours and not the peloton. The paint on tarmac will fade to be replaced in a continual cycle of renewal but the names printed white onto brown summit signs will never desert me — always there, for all of us, and future generations too. In essence, the climbs that Drew and I had tackled were the very same routes ridden one hundred years ago, the same arduous ascents cyclists will be slogging their way up in another hundred years to come. Tourmalet, Ventoux, Galibier, Stelvio, D'Huez ... those are the sport of cycling's true legends. They feature in races (and the headlines) year in year out; they never lose form, can't retire. More importantly, in this era of doubt, the mountains won't test positive — solid as the millennia of rock upon which their roads were laid, guaranteed to never let you down.”

Click here to buy the book or download a sample or just search "The Breakaway" at Amazon.

The Rider by Tim Krabbé - a Nano Review

The Rider is the English translation of Tim Krabbé's 1978 Dutch book, DeRenner. It's long been a cult classic, but I was late to the party, despite having known of the tome for ages.

The 148 pages tell the story of the author's experience in racing the Tour de Mont Aigoual. His commentary of the 150km event is littered with various cycling-related anecdotes and others detailing his own journey to becoming an amateur racing cyclist.

It's full of great writing and descriptions of the sport that any cyclist, racer or not, will relate to. Such as this:


"On a bike your consciousness is small. The harder you work, the smaller it gets. Every thought that arises is immediately and utterly true, every unexpected event is something you'd known all along but had only forgotten for a moment. A pounding riff from a song, a bit of long division that starts over and over, a magnified anger at someone, is enough to fill your thoughts."

Or this on the pain of riding uphill:

"Climbing is a rhythm, a trance; you have to rock your organs' protest back to sleep."

No more spoilers. If you haven't read it, do so.

From Mont Ventoux to the Mont Aigoual

It was a recent reading of Ventoux by Bert Wagendorp that pushed me to finally getting hold of a copy of The Rider. In Ventoux, one of the main characters, Joost, readily quotes extracts from The Rider in an attempt to portray himself as a bone fide cyclist. (Joost's and my actions are in no way related, honest.)

The Day The Grown Man Cried

I've long been particularly susceptible to cold hands. Even a short ride to work on a not particularly cold day can leave me in a decent amount of discomfort. Last weekend's ride was a new (temperature) low for my poor icy paws, and it sent me in search of a solution.

The last couple of winters I've been riding with Sealskin's Extra Cold Winter Gloves (see my review here). With these and a liner glove I've been just about okay on most days.

Andy Hampsten recreating my ride

Dysfunctional Digits

Last Sunday wasn't okay. The temperature with windchill was about 2 below 0 Celsius. Five miles in and my hands were beginning to hurt. For the next 55 miles it was either sleeting or snowing. About halfway done and my hands were extremely sore. By 10 miles from home they barely functioned. I couldn't shift up onto the big ring and struggled to brake and grip the bars.

By home my fingers were so useless/painful I couldn't get my key from my pocket, let alone use it to open the door. Thankfully, my wife heard my knock and came to the rescue.

I'm man enough to admit that as my hands slowly warmed the pain was so intense I broke down in tears.

Emigration or Amputation

A pitiful situation you'll agree, and one that requires a solution beyond amputation/emigration to warmer climes.

Googling a solution to cold hands caused by poor circulation let to an article suggesting that hand exercises might be the key: an increase in muscle will lead to an increase in blood supply.

A glove within a glove within a glove

I'll give that a shot. In the meantime I need a shorter-term fix. Step forward disposable latex gloves. I'm going to try these as a sub-liner beneath my liner, inside my Sealskin gloves and hope they do two things: one, keep the rain/snow completely out, and two, make my hands sweat (should there be sufficient internal heat to do so).

Will either fix work? Hopefully, or it's amputation/emigration for me.

UPDATE: I've since had a few short (just) sub-zero rides to/from work and it appears that emigration is still on the cards. My thumbs in particular get really painful within a few miles. I guess that hoping the latex gloves will cause my hands to sweat will only work if my hands are sufficiently active to perspire.

Long-term I'll work on the exercises and aim for emigration. Short term I've been trying to heat my hands up whilst riding by moving and flexing my fingers and thumbs. So, if you see a cyclist riding around Edinburgh who looks like a trainee mime artist then give me a wave.