tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30248614991757435862024-02-19T01:05:34.942-08:00gordo's world of zoomzoom gordohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08257405294034433922noreply@blogger.comBlogger403125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3024861499175743586.post-38427568685021018352013-07-13T02:42:00.001-07:002013-07-13T02:42:24.646-07:00Cycling Quotes Of The WeekHello everyone. Just a quick silly video and the three best cycling quotes that I've heard over the last week. All of the quotes are anonymous, but I'm sure you know who you are...<br />
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"There's this section on Strava that I really want to get. I do the route on the way to work each day and I reckon I could get it easily it's just that... I don't want to run over a dog."<br />
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"There's a guy at Clapham Junction in BMC Hincapie kit. Obviously still got one fan left. He's just folded up his Brompton. Dick."<br />
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"After the race started, the organiser's two teenaged daughters were left in charge of the licences. When we got back after the race, the licences had all been laid out on the table. It turned out, the girls had been rating all the riders in order of appearance, from best looking to ugliest."<br />
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And finally, which rider are you?<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/THA59sKBkF0" width="560"></iframe>zoom gordohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08257405294034433922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3024861499175743586.post-72146681703061302202013-06-21T12:54:00.000-07:002013-06-21T13:14:56.311-07:00HelloHello everybody. I haven't posted in a while...<br />
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The truth is, I haven't had the time. Life is busy busy, with a day job, doing the track in the evenings and trying to organise a race ...well... in between the daytime and the evenings.<br />
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I may be back when I'm done. No promises.<br />
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Meanwhile, check here <a href="http://bigrobjef.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">http://bigrobjef.blogspot.co.uk/</a> for updates on the south west's first open track meeting in 20 years. You can even ride it if you want: <a href="https://www.britishcycling.org.uk/events/details/84734/The-Rob-Jefferies-Memorial-Meeting">https://www.britishcycling.org.uk/events/details/84734/The-Rob-Jefferies-Memorial-Meeting</a><br />
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zoom gordohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08257405294034433922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3024861499175743586.post-27224836452401254002013-05-25T13:24:00.001-07:002013-05-25T13:24:40.446-07:00Round TwoThe Raymond Brown Track League returned to the track for it's second round in three weeks. The last week's endeavours had been rained off and this Tuesday was touch and go. Heavy clouds hung in the air in that perculiar weather pattern known as 'British summer'. Individual spots of rain had fallen on my face several times during the day and, on the drive down to the circuit (via a cheerful though time consuming detour through lovely West Howe), even darker clouds had been visible over the track. <br />
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As it turned out, the evening stayed dry and the heavy clouds had not kept the riders away. Last year, the numbers at most league races could only be described as 'dissapointing'. This year, I think the youths events alone had more riders in them than some entire meetings at the end of last year's league. And that was just the youth riders who chose to ride these races. Two - Ali Fielding and Alex Joliffe, aged 13 and 14 years old respectively - had wrangled a ride for themselves in the 'b' league. They were entitled to do this, at the comissaire's discretion, and filled a Les Pick sized hole at the front of the 'B' league field for most of the evening. Adam D'Arcy-Wykes and club newcomer Will Clark, meanwhile, spent the evening handing down a beating to the 'A' leaguers while club pride was upheld in the juniors by the ever improving Beccy, Becca, Eve, Lucy, Sam, Aisha [deep breath] Dan, Ryan and the couple of others who's names I've doubtless left off the list. Apologies if I havce but you know me, mind like a sieve.<br />
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The evening's events seemed heavily biased towards elimination races, or devils. Normally my least favourite track event, I seemed to be enjoying them a lot more this year. I am no longer am one of the first out but now seem to be in that limbo between being the first out and not actually getting in the top six. Having more than six riders in the event helped hugely on this front. This week, I chose the role of wingman to our two rising stars, Ali and Alex, blocking their outside in the early laps and keeping an eye behind. In a devil, the last rider across the line is eliminated every other lap and so the 'safe' place to ride is near the front. Not actually on the front, as you'll be towing everybody along and definately not on the inside at the back. The race starts with the bunch in a sort of diamond formation, which, as more riders are eliminated, turns into a triangle. Then it turns into two lines of riders, which is bad news for the riders in the second line. Especially the one's down the bottom of the track. There is a physical limit to the number of riders that you can squeeze width ways across a track - as we discovered about this time last year. So, not wanting a repeat of that incident, you spot a line of riders ahead of you closing together like a Saxon shield-wall, spot the riders on the outside out-sprinting you and you shrug and admit defeat. I'd like to think that I took a hit for the team. Or rather the club, sacrificing myself so that our two young riders would survive but the truth is they were doing fine by themselves. They can live with or without me, as the song goes. Indeed, they took it to the line, outsprinting Guy Bolton who was riding in only his second league meeting after a year of watching from the side lines and saying 'ooh, I don't know if I'm fast enough for this'. Yes, Guy, yes you are. Ok, so you had your ass kicked by a couple of kids but still... <br />
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Seeing as we're on to the excuses, in one race I was at the 'sharp end', when I heard the unmistakable sound of a tyre letting go. This produces a sound something like a really lame catherine wheel and in track racing is usually followed by that other noise to make a racing cyclist's hair stand on end, expensive metal hitting tarmac. Luckily the culprit, one Mr Adam D'Arcy-Wykes, got his bike safely down on the flat stuff. I joined him shortly afterwards and, while I am in no way blaming his bad luck for my own performance in the race, my excuse is that when his tyre let go, I backed off. Not unreasonably, I had been expecting either a crash or a restart. We got neither and, by this time I was at the wrong end of proceedings and knackered myself trying to get back in. From the infield, by a combination of Ali's spare wheel, Adam's sprocket and my lockring tool, we got him back in the next race. <br />
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This was a sixty lapper for both 'A' and 'B' league riders and Adam soon had me regretting lending him that lock ring as he kicked in the first five laps. For me the rest of the race was a continuous attempt to close down gaps - catching the leaders, catching back on. My legs felt ok despite this, or at least they did until I ran out of puff with about 25 laps to go. I think I might be massively undergeared. Meanwhile, Will put in a big dig in the final few laps to take the win, with Adam taking second from the usual horde of Bournemouth Arrow riders. Safely in the bunch were Ali and Alex - thirteen and fourteen, remember - while down on the infield Beccy looked on with an eye to joining the big boys and girls sometime soon. In the meanwhile, we amused ourselves with alphabetising the whole of the Poole Wheelers contingent. Adam, Alex and Alisdair were in the race. Beccy and Becca were in the centre. Colin was there but not racing. Dan was in the under 12s. There were no'E's nor 'F's present at the track in our colours. There was a Gordon (hello!) and a Graham judging at the start line, a Harrison (not riding due to injury) and that's as far as we got. The racing was over and it was getting dark. <br />
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So, if anybody called Emily, or Fred, wants to race for the club, you know who to call.zoom gordohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08257405294034433922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3024861499175743586.post-53040779190380882012013-05-20T11:35:00.001-07:002013-05-20T11:35:42.010-07:00Bradley Wiggins - The Early YearsThis has been doing the rounds of social media. Its of the French team Francaise Des Jeux back when they had a young track star by the name of Bradley Wiggins in their number. That'll be him failing - or perhaps taking too literally - the old cyclocross 'flying dismount' technique at 48 seconds in. Dismissively, the directeur sportive, Marcakl Gavant explains 'this one's a trackie'. I couldn't possibly comment...
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/5qMM2r_42bA" width="420"></iframe><br />zoom gordohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08257405294034433922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3024861499175743586.post-90177492113633030032013-05-13T13:03:00.002-07:002013-05-13T13:03:49.603-07:00Jurassic Beast (Rise Of The MAMILs)So, fresh from my <a href="http://zoom-gordo.blogspot.co.uk/?view=flipcard#!/2013/04/mamilgeddon.html"> slightly acerbic commentary on a charity ride that I marshalled for a couple of weeks back</a>, I decided to put my money where my mouth was and enter a sportive.<br />
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I was coerced into doing the event by the Bournemouth University Cycling Club with which I am involved. They'd entered, did I fancy doing it? The event in question was the popular <a href="http://www.cyclosport.org/16-May-2012/news/wiggle-jurassic-beast-review.html">Jurassic Beast</a>
, which encompassed routes of 30, 66 and 100 miles, winding round the lanes of the Isle Of Purbeck* and Dorset's famous <a href="http://jurassiccoast.org/">Jurassic Coast</a>**.<br />
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In case you aren't up to speed, a sportive is an organised ride. Kinda like a charity ride except not for charity, or a reliability trial except that you pay an extortionate entry fee for the privilage of riding along roads already open to the general public. Whoever came up with the idea of charging several thousand people upwards of £30 each to ride their bikes around a bit is probably still belly laughing on their enormous pile of cash. As a scam, it's up there with the water company charging you to take your crap away and then selling it back to you as eco-compost but hey, you can't deny that they're popular. Anyway, long story short, after a spring spent trying to persuade the BUCC to enter some races, they persuaded me to enter a sportive. So I did.<br />
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The individuals in question were (l to r) Charlotte (I think, I hadn't met her before), Peter, Ashley and Tom, all resplendant in their Bournemouth Uni cycling kit. John also came - he drove the bus but didn't ride, claiming he had an epic amount of revising to do for an exam in the week. So had Tom but he had put it off till 'after the ride', knowing full well that that time would be filled with him lying on the sofa while eating. More cramming his face than cramming. Ashley, meanwhile, had to get back to work his shift in the afternoon. The final member, Cory, with neither revision to do nor a bike to ride, wasn't entirely sure what he was doing here at all, or indeed what he was going to do for the next five hours. I suggested he take in the tank museum, which was serving as the start and finish area but no, he didn't even like tanks.<br />
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Also spotted at the start line was friend of this blog <a href="http://www.charliethebikemonger.com/index.asp">Charlie The Bikemonger</a>, looking slightly out of place in lycra shorts, as well as Pat Lockyer (an early starter) and, later in the ride, John O'Brien.<br />
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So, club solidarity went for a burton within the first mile, as Peter and Charlotte dropped out the back of the bunch so to speak on the first climb. Meanwhile Ashley - having a job to get to afterwards, remember - vanished up the road within 6 miles of the start. This left Tom and myself to stick together for the remaining 60 miles. Which we did, making storming progress of the first section. This is generally how sportives and long rides start, with you barrelling along, chatting away. <br />
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For the first 10 miles, we didn't have a single rider overtake us. Well, we did, but that was after we'd taken a wrong turn. A single, female rider whom we wound back in on the climb to Durdle Door***. Then, after we'd plunged back down to Lulworth Cove, she got us back. We'd actually stopped at the feed station, as had she but, to use a Formula One analogy, she'd short-stopped and got out ahead of us. We got her back on the long climb out of Lulworth. She looked across as I passed her again and muttered 'Well done'. I am still wondering whether that was competitive banter or sarcasm. For all I know, she may well right now be writing her own blog post, laughing at her 66 mile bruising of fragile male egos. We 'got' her on the climb but she then 'got' us back on the descent, shooting past like a scalded cat. I had full intention of chasing but Tom, having just wolfed back a whole complimentary energy bar at the foot of a long climb, was struggling to keep it in the appropriate part of his body. The last I saw of our nemisis was tantalisingly close ahead of us on Whiteways and then about 30 miles later at the next feed station at Corfe Castle. She was leaving as we were arriving and I was sorely tempted to do a u turn and get after her. Fair's fair, it's the exact same thing that she'd done to us. However the lure of another flap jack proved stronger than my competitive urge.<br />
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By this time, we were well into the 'lumpy' section of the route. In truth it was all pretty lumpy. The name 'Jurassic Beast' comes from the profile looking like the jaw of a dinosaur. Or something. Enough, anyway, to have us speculating about doing a sportive called the 'Really, Really Flat'. The first bit was flat, the second short and steep, then next was long and drawn out. Climbs from Corfe Castle to the viewpoint, and then Swanage to Worthy Matravers. We were, at this point at least heading loosely back towards Bovington, crossing the route through Corfe Castle again and the gloriously flat section around Arne. Then it went lumpy again. I thought I knew every road in the Purbecks already but apparently not. One climb with about 10 miles to go was so steep that there was a sort of survivor's support group at the top. I ground my way up there, then stopped at the summit and waited for Tom, who was in cramp hell. From the summit, we could actually see Bovington camp and it did actually look either downhill and flat all the way. And it was, almost. Except for the bit around the back of Lulworth Castle. At one point, I thought they were going to route us up Creech hill - home of Poole Wheeler's annual hillclimb. But they didn't - it was the long roll back to Wool and then Bovington and home.<br />
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Our time for the 66 miles was 4 hours 15 minutes. Not bad considering I rarely ride over 40 miles at a time. Well I don't think it's bad. Charlie rolled through the finish not long afterwards, having been riding with us for a long part of the way but dropping back after stopping for a leisurely cigarette break. Ashley had come in a long time before us and was now, presumably, slumped, exhausted, over his till at TK Maxx. Peter and Charlotte hadn't arrived by the time I had gone home.<br />
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So, Sportives? Good? Well, not bad. An interesting route, even if it is essentially the same as the Bournemouth Jubilee Wheelers 100km reliability trial. Which costs a fiver to non-members, and has the lovely Aimee serving you up bacon butties afterwards.<br />
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I'm sure I'll be out again next week. Same roads but free this time. Each to their own.<br />
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*Not actually an island. Don't ask me, I don't make the rules.<br />
** Yeah, Devon gets a whole era named after it, all we get is a coast.<br />
***Yes, there really is a place called Durdle Door.zoom gordohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08257405294034433922noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3024861499175743586.post-51497768949325963522013-05-10T13:22:00.002-07:002013-05-10T13:22:53.386-07:00Back To RealitySo I went and did some track racing. I tend to from time to time. It had been a long, long month and a bit since Easter. I'd hurt my back doing a standing start effort in, off all things, a Poole Wheeler's club track session. This had happened a week after the Good Friday/Kingsbury cup double, thus turning my 'rest week' into more of a 'rest month'. <br />
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Then, on the May day bank holiday, I'd discovered that the reason that my back was hurting might have something to do with the fact that the saddle was way too high. I discovered this while out on a ride and, under normal circumstances, this would have taken about 20 seconds with a multi tool to fix. However, the ally seat post had rusted over the winter and was stuck in the titanium frame, so I had to head back home (now in huge pain, as one usually is when one discovers that one's discomfort is not solely down to 'being a wuss') and make a final adjustment with a hammer and a crowbar. Happily, the seat post has been removed and the frame has been liberally covered in copper grease (I thought I already had been but hey). The original seat post did not survive the extraction and a new - carbon - one has been ordered from Wiggle. If the note from Royal Mail beside me on my desk is to be believed then it has already arrived. Unless it's my Sister's birthday present. But, either way, good.<br />
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Anyway, if you imagine a pelvis sat upon a saddle, rocking from side to side with every pedal stroke. This is a bad thing. Now, imagine that over a time scale long enough to succesfully corode an ally seat post into a ti frame then that is a bad thing happening over a long while. Ergo, my back hurts. Ergo, ha ha ha ha. Never a truer word etc.<br />
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The good news in all of this is that the saddle on my track bike was at it's perfectly set height, where it has been for about 3 years. This meant that time on track did not result in back hurty time, which was just as well, as the track league started on Tuesday. The second year of the track league and I think we can safely conclude that things have improved considerably! There were more riders in the 'b' league alone than there were overall entries in some of the events last year. Meanwhile, the youth races were rammed full of new talent - again in sharp contrast to the half dozen riders that we were getting the year before.<br />
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For my part, I rode better than I'd expected but still didn't actually score in any of the races. Let's just say that, with the influx of new riders, it is VERY important that you stay at or near the front of the race. If you enter the last lap at the back, you will not be getting through the thundering, five rider wide pack ahead of you. Also, this year, the results are only given down to sixth which means that you can safely trail in at the back without getting a reult sheet with your name repeatedly appearing in last place. Highlights, surprisingly, included the elimination race/devil take the hindmost, which was run with 'a' and 'b' leagues combined. Normally, I hate the 'devil' but I seem to have rather enjoyed this one, riding the 'Laura Trott line' until my legs gave out. Harrison won, having sat on the front for the entire race. 'Isn't that what Chester told you not to do?' I asked him afterwards as he lay, gasping, in a camp chair. He replied by indicating his prefared position in the bunch. At least I think that was what he was trying to say.<br />
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I'd better shut up before anybody important reads this and concludes 'oh, he prefares riding the 'A' league, does he?<br />
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Here's till next time I get a free evening.<br />
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ZGzoom gordohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08257405294034433922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3024861499175743586.post-43107966678771780062013-04-29T13:00:00.002-07:002013-04-29T13:00:31.414-07:00MAMILgeddon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A couple of weeks ago, I was out for a ride in the New Forest with two of my cycling buddies, Richard Eastham and Jason Falconer. Collectively, over a double espresso in a cafe in Burley, we dreampt up the concept of MAMILgeddon. MAMIL, you may be familiar with. It means Middle Aged Man In Lycra, usually meant as a term of abuse although I'm all for reclaiming the name for ourselves. Yes I'm middle aged (or will be in a month) yes I'm wearing lycra. That's because I'm awesome and I'm actually getting out and at least trying to get my beergut down a little bit and having a thunderingly good time while doing so. What's not to love?<br />
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Anyway, to get back to the point, the term MAMILgeddon very much describes the New Forest on a spring Sunday morning. Over the coffee and a lot of talk about the best sunglasses of the 90s, we pushed the metaphore to a <a href="http://www.rouleur.cc/books">rouleur-style</a> glossy coffee-table type book called MAMILgeddon. This would be packed full of moody, black and white pictures of overweight middle aged men in tightly stretched lycra riding high end bikes in various sportives up and down the country. We were convinced that the idea was a winner and laughed about it all the way back to West Parley.<br />
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A couple of weeks later, and I found myself witnessing the real deal as I helped out at the annual BHF ride. I've been riding this for about 10 years, now. It is in fact a <a href="http://zoom-gordo.blogspot.co.uk/?view=flipcard#!/2010/04/hit-me-baby-one-more-time.html">regular</a> for me, even doing it <a href="http://zoom-gordo.blogspot.co.uk/?view=flipcard#!/2009/04/for-those-of-bournemouth-fixie-that.html">super retro</a> and even on a fixed wheel way back when. Sixty-six miles on a 73" fixed wheel is quite a ask, I can tell you, although it sadly predates this blog. This year, however, I had finally given in to years of arm twisting by the organiser Gerry and decided to help out instead of ride. When people say that someone has 'done alot for cycling over the years' in Gerry's case it really is true and he still does alot: namely organising this ride for distances from 25 to 100 miles around the Dorset countryside as a fund raiser for the very worthy cause that is the <a href="http://www.bhf.org.uk/#&panel1-1">British Heart Foundation</a>. <br />
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As I had to at the track in the afternoon, I'd requested a spot close to home and had got the long, wide farm track that stretches round the back of Bradbury Rings. My job was directing people off the end of this track, round a very tight hairpin and back onto a tarmac lane. And there, over the course of 3 or so hours, I saw MAMILgeddon in all it's glory. Thousands rolled past me, mostly very slowly, taking the hairpin at walking pace and very often not even managing to hold it at that speed. Back when I used to go to festivals, we used to hold a competition for 'least appropriate footwear' (eg suede high heel boots at a wet Reading festival). Here, the prize was for the most audaciously inappropriate wheels. Step forward the man on the Pinarello Dogma with tubs on deep-section Zipp rims. They must have really come into their own on the windy, potholed and gravel strewn country lanes out Rockbourne way. Needless to say, the weight savings of a £6000 bike were more than negated by the weight of the rider.<br />
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Of course it's easy to mock, but that's why I do it. For, once the MAMILs were out of the way, along came the next strata below, the family cyclists, aka the nodders. Never mind MAMILgeddon, this was more like the living dead on bicycles, ambling up the same road in a disorganised gaggle. Each and everyone got to the end of the off-road part, checked their cycle computer and sighed '2.5 miles in, one tenth of the way there'.<br />
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At this point, I'd like to point to our own 'proper' cyclists doing it properly, except that I did spot a large group of Poole Wheelers shirts in the far distance, which turned out to be the Poole Wheelers girls squad, chaparoned by Graham. They'd been collectively fixing a flat about half a mile up the road. 'We've had two flats and a crash' Graham said to me as they passed 'And we've only gone 2 miles'. I genuinely don't know who the culprits were in both cases, though I have my suspicisons.<br />
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As mentioned, it's easy to mock. Its also quite fun.<br />
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complaining about the lack of tarmaczoom gordohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08257405294034433922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3024861499175743586.post-13834860475342005642013-04-19T12:47:00.000-07:002013-04-19T12:48:31.654-07:00Cold-y Looking Chaingang (The Glamourous World Of German TV Drama)On Monday, I got a call from Charlie of <a href="http://www.charliethebikemonger.com/">Charlie the Bikemonger</a> fame - Swanage based monger of all things single speed via his on line shop. You really should check it out. Anyway, the call went along the lines of a request: was I busy Thursday, did I want to earn £60 and do I want to be on TV? The answer was yes, yes and yes respectively but me being busy on Thursday could be easily changed. Sure enough, my 'day job' employers <strike>bought my sob story</strike> graciously allowed me the day off and so off I jolly well went to Swanage.<br />
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Further details were, it's fair to say, a little shakey. We were needed for 3pm and were leaving Charlie's shop at 2. I duly rolled in at something resembling the stroke of 2 to hear from Michelle (Mrs The Bikemonger) that 'they'd already left'. Details, once again, were shakey. The place they were off to was 'somewhere in Studland' which was 'not very big, so you'll probably find it'. I set off, thinking that I, a racy-type cyclist would probably catch them, a pair of touring-type cyclists. There was only one road and it was mostly up hill.<br />
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Long story short, I didn't catch them. Sneakily, they were heading to a pub to have their lunch. I, meanwhile, rolled through the not very big village of Studland to find a flourescent pink sign saying 'UNIT', pointing down the driveway of a very posh house. Around the back was a cricket pitch, upon which people were playing cricket, plus a lot of film unit-type vans with German number plates. This looked promising.<br />
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I introduced myself to the only person around who was not currently engaged in a cricket match - a German girl called Josie who had a radio earpiece and had a job that involved standing around for ages and then running off at random moments. She greeted me and gave a brief run down of what was going on: this was a shoot for the popular(?) German TV drama Inspector Jury. A sort of German language Midsommer Murders. The set was a room inside the big house over looking the cricket pitch. At the moment, all the cameras were filming the scene from one end of the room, where the cricket match provided a whimsical backdrop. As soon as that was done, the cameras would be shifted to the other side of the room, facing out the other window where, presumably, whimsical English country scenes of people on bicycles would pass by the other window. Apparently, when hunting locations, the director had noticed lots of bicycles heading up through the village and, due to the rather warped logic of TV world, instead of just filming the normal traffic riding past outside, fake traffic had to be sourced and paid for. That was where we came in. Traffic lights had been set up and, when our turn came to shoot, the whole road would be blocked off and we, presumably, would amble up and down the road at the director's behest. <br />
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By this time, my campadres had arrived: Matt, a pysiotherapist cum bartender from Bournemouth, the aforementioned Charlie T Bikemonger and bike mechanic by day, pastry chef by night David. We settled ourselves down on this gloriously sunny day and waited for our call.<br />
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This was about three o'clock in the afternoon. The cricket match stopped and started (at the director's behest), with the cricketers returning to the pavilion, where we all maintained a very British distance. Some attempts were made at comunication between the two groups but these largely fell apart after one of the cricketers - the owner of an utterly ludicrous comb-over - made a staggeringly poor taste remark to us about running over a couple of cyclists on his way down here, then climbed into his Porsche and drove off. Most of the rest off the team followed soon after, when Josie informed them that they were no longer needed. This got us a little excited: would we be on soon? No.<br />
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Now having the run of the recently vacated pavilion, Charlie discovered that several of the chairs in their were from his garden. Matt pointed, saying 'oh, that chair's got a Surly sticker on it', and Charlie's jaw dropped 'Those are my ******* chairs'. Apparently, they had been taken to the dump. Or something. No one's accusing anyone of actual theft here or anything. Joking about mowing down cyclists with your sportscar is one thing but theft is another entirely.<br />
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As the afternoon rolled by, Matt, who is off touring around Europe in a few months, had a virtual seminar in cycle touring from cyclo-touristes extraordinaire Charlie and David. Amongst the tips offered were certain gems, such as holding your hand out at arms length towards the sun. The number of fingers that you can fit between the sun and the horizon denotes how long you have left before sundown. Each finger is fifteen minutes so therefore all four of them counts as an hour. This works on everybody irregardless of body size 'unless you're a t-rex'.<br />
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The second finger-based cycle-touring tip is to hold out just your thumb and little finger in surfing-type gesture. Four of these, end to end when stretched across a Michelin map, show the distance that can be easily cycled in a day. Many more were to follow, which I won't recant cos there's probably no way in hell that I'll ever go on a cycle tour. <br />
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Anyway, we were joined by a guy who's name I'm afraid I have forgotten - a local taxi driver, who had been doing very well out of this whole shebang. He got us some coffees from the catering truck and I feel that it is my duty to point out that, in the Purbecks at least, taxi drivers and cyclists are the best of friends. Over in Wareham a few miles away, the local taxi firm is run by Dave Wade, who organises two road races in the region and is the Father of a ridiculously talented young rider. Meanwhile, 'our' Swanage-based taxi drivers had managed to get one of the Austrian leading ladies of this production to the party celebrating the opening of Charlie the Bikemonger's new shop location last week. Crazy times. <br />
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And so, time dragged on. With two fingers to go before sun down, the whole unit stopped for 'lunch' and it became patently obvious that we would not be getting ourselves into shot at all today. We did get a free meal out of it, though. Due to our lowly position in the greater scheme of things, we were only allowed the pasta option but nobody mentioned HOW much pasta we were allowed. We duly stuffed ourselves until Josie came back out with our wages for our day's graft. £60 each, although, being German, everything had to be legal and above board so you had to give them your address and national insurance number. And then, stuffed full of pasta and with considerably less than a finger of sunlight left, we rode back to Swanage on a beautiful spring evening.<br />
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Good times, good weather, good company. I could get to like this line of work. Charlie's even talking about setting up a cycling actor's agency.zoom gordohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08257405294034433922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3024861499175743586.post-4904177860642574162013-04-12T12:13:00.002-07:002013-04-12T12:13:28.981-07:00The Future's Bright, The Future's Orange (Een Grote Verontschuldiging Aan De Nederlandse Natie)If you've been paying attention, you will notice that I've been being a bit rude about the Dutch nation of late. Basically, I've been <a href="http://zoom-gordo.blogspot.co.uk/?view=flipcard#!/2013/02/schism-go-belgian-post.html">suggesting that the nation as a whole is a bit boring</a> and, even worse, that <a href="http://zoom-gordo.blogspot.co.uk/?view=flipcard#!/2013/03/hubris-calling-time-on-hub-gears.html">their bikes are a bit shit</a>.<br />
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The truth is that me and the Dutch nation go back a long way. Back to 1990, in fact, when I was 16 and went on a school trip to Amsterdam. Now you might think that letting a group of 16 year olds loose in Amsterdam was asking for trouble and you'd be right. Lucky for us, the legal drinking age in the Netherlands is 16 and the week long trip counted the first time in my life that I suffered a hangover: specifically, on a coach journey to Den Haag to shuffle around some godawful museum of modern art or something.<br />
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Anyway, in amongst all the drinking, I remember being very impressed with Amsterdam and the Netherlands in general. Coming from rural Kent in the depths of Thatcher's Britain, it was like steppng into a wonderful, utopian future.I came home a commited European and promptly bored my family to death with tales of how everything over there was just SO much better.<br />
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At the time, I had some Dutch friends that I was in heavy correspondance with and, soon as I'd saved up, I invited myself over to visit. This time I went to stay in Scheidam, an unpronouncable suburb of Rotterdam famous for gin. Unlike my previous trip, which had involved a mega hotel outside the equally unpronouncable Schiphol airport just outside one of Europe's top party destinations, this was very much 'normal' Holland. Whatever the Dutch equivalent was of 'la France profond' (de Nederlandse gaand, probably), this was it. A post war housing complex with an excellent transport network. And I do mean excellent. At the time, using a combination of cycling and public transport was nothing unusual to me. If you didn't have a car it tended to be nessecary. I can still remember bus numbers and routes around Tonbridge in the late 80s but on this side of the north sea, as with pretty much everything else in the country, the trains were clean and ran on time.<br />
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More to the point, they went quite close to places that you wanted to get to. In Britain, non-motorised transport involved a lot of either walking or cycling at either end. In Holland, you simply ambled across the travel hub from the train to the tram and then from the tram stop to the wide boulevard to your Mies van de Rohe inspired flat complex. I don't recall seeing cars very much, although memory does fade over twenty three years. Via tram and train we visited Rotterdam (lovely place, mmm yeah) and Zandvoort, home of the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qqs4GXCHv9s">Dutch Grand Prix</a> between 1950 and 1985. And, at one point, we even visited the supermarket. <br />
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This was my introduction to the aforementioned 'Dutch bike'. I was handed the one that actually had brakes. Well, it had rod/cable brakes, while the other had a frankly terrifying 'coaster brake' that you activated by pedaling backwards. By mutual consent it was decided that I wouldn't touch that with a barge pole. I actually think that I roared with derisive laughter at the sight of it, being much more used to tatty old Brit built race bikes at the time. And so, we ambled gently down the wide, traffic free cycle way that bisected the town, nodding to the many other people out on their own bikes, doing their thing. In the supermarket, I also laughed at how tobacco in the Netherlands was called 'shag' and bought some cans of Heiniken, as I was allowed to do so in this country.<br />
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And back we ambled, along the same cycle-only bike path. As mentioned earlier, riding my bike in to town was no great shakes for me at the time. The difference was that, back home, my home was along the A21, that ran between Tonbridge and Maidstone (and was later part of the route of the opening stage of the 2007 Tour de France). So, I shared my daily commute to school with articulated trucks and the like. Road provision for the likes of me then was even more laughable than it is today. Once again, the Netherlands won hands down and my only comeback was the fact that I had a cooler bike.<br />
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Which brings us to the thing. Being the veritable jet setter that I was at the time, I was also a fairly frequent visitor to France. On holiday in 1989, we had driven up one of the routes of that year's Tour de France (Super-Bagneres <em>I think),</em> through the Pyrennes with names like BREUKINK, FIGNON and DELGADO painted onto the road.
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In the small town outside of Toulouse that I was visiting, they also had cycle lanes (seperated from the car lane by a kerbstone every 20 meters, just to keep the drivers on their toes). But again, crucially, <em>everybody rode cool bikes</em>. Even the tatty old bikes were cool. Or at least cooler than anything with a basket on the front. The difference seemed to be that, while in the Holland, the bike was a bland, servile working tool, in France the bike was a thing that you loved and longed for and stuck a poster off on your bedroom wall. My fickle, teenaged mind turned it's back on Dutch efficiency and embraced French flair. If Holland was the neat, well scrubbed kid that always had it's homework done before it was allowed out to play, France was the cool kid with the band t shirt that smoked roll-ups and lied convincingly about how many girls it had had.<br />
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So, twenty three years on, I am still a proud European in all senses of the word. I still love both countries, though I haven't seen Holland again since 1991. And I still look enviously at people in Holland's ability to get around their country with the absolute minimum of fuss and bother. Not to mention without running the chance of beeing squished by a truck. Nearly thirty years on and we in Britain still have so far to catch up. I fully support the whole <a href="http://lcc.org.uk/pages/go-dutch">'go Dutch'</a> movement and look forward to them rolling it out across the whole of the country and not just London. And when they do, I will ride along these spacious, traffic free fietsen baan in full lycra and on a PROPER bike.<br />
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Anyway, one final point: the country ISN'T EVEN CALLED HOLLAND. So there.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/eE_IUPInEuc" width="560"></iframe><br />zoom gordohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08257405294034433922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3024861499175743586.post-76842029696008164342013-03-31T12:56:00.000-07:002013-03-31T12:56:01.394-07:00Love In A Cold Climate (Good Friday At Herne Hill)<br />
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As we <a href="http://zoom-gordo.blogspot.co.uk/?view=flipcard#!/2012/04/good-friday.html">established last year</a>, in British track racing, Good Friday IS Herne Hill. Or rather the Herne Hill Good Friday Meeting. I've been going since 2005, while it's been running for about a hundred years before that. The event is a sort of pro-am affair where no-mark amatuers like myself can bask in the reflected glory of seasoned international stars and do our damndest to keep up with them for a bit.<br />
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This year, the 'established stars' counted amongst their number world champion pursuiter Andy Tennant; Germany's second best sprinter and owner of a comicly large pair of thighs Robert Forsterman; extremely genial paralympian sprinter Jody Cundy (whom I was hugely tempted to run up to, hand him a water bottle and beg him <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GH8h09p1NZ4">'do the thing, do the thing!'<a href="http://www.blogger.com/null">); six day star Marcel Kalz and a whole host of others who, though less familiar to our ears, are no less capable of ripping your legs off. At one point, while publicising a race that I'm organising in July ( <a href="http://bigrobjef.blogspot.co.uk/">http://bigrobjef.blogspot.co.uk/</a> ) I handed a leaflet to one rider wrapped in a sleeping bag like the caterpillar in Alice In Wonderland. He unzipped his sleeping bag to reveal a Slovakia national jersey, at which point I apologised and explained that the race might not be for him.<br />
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And what was he doing in a sleeping bag, you ask? Well lets just say that it was an open air track event in March in what has proven to be a particularly chilly spring. A heady five degrees centigrade at best and with a cold wind on top, or chuffing freezing in old money. Pictured below is my clubmate Les, rather illustrating the whole Irish beach holiday vibe that was going down.<br />
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He was down with myself and Adam (also Poole Wheelers) as well as James Brightwell from Bournemouth Arrow, while Jason Falconer was also tagging along, possibly with an eye to riding next year. Together, we formed a little south coast enclave in the newly tarmaced centre section of the Herne Hill track. James, very much in the spirit of the event, had entered the sprint along with the likes of Robert Forstermann, Callum Skinner, Jody Cundy and co. Myself and Les were entered into the endurance events, which was basically anything on the program that lasted longer than two laps. Les and myself rolled up to the line for the first time a little later for the Ed Taylor points race.<br />
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Now, looking at the start list of this race says something about the quality: the first six names on the start list went as follows Christian, Nico, Marcel, Leif, Manuel and Alessandro. The first 'normal' name - ie the first that you would expect to find in a domestic track race - was Andy but that was the aforementioned TP world champ Andy Tennant. And even if you were to remove all the Lucas and the Fredericos, there would still be some pretty handy riders out there. Step forward Stephen Bradbury, John McClelland and co. Stephen who, last time I saw him had been joking about being off in Belgium by this time of year, had been ill lately and wasn't feeling fantastic. I made my usual dry joke about swopping his "bad" legs for mine in the absolute form of my life but the race rolled out with a depressing predictability. <br />
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It was a points race and so went slow, quick, slow. Or in this case, slow quick, quick, quicker, quick. The trick for hanging on in a points race is to hang on through the sprint lap and wait for the field to slow down so that you can catch back on. There is a fairly huge flaw in this ploy, which is that, if somebody decides to attact imediately after the first sprint lap, then the bunch carries on thundering round without slowing down and giving the no marks like me a chance to get our breath back. By the time that the break had been caught, and the field finally slowed down, I was already out the back. Les, who had stuck in there, lasted a couple of laps longer and we both flopped down onto our little bit of tarmac in the infield gasping like landed fish. I consolled myself that one lap here counts for two of Slades Farm and probably three or four of Calshot, so that the amount of time that I had spent on the actual race counted for about about the length or the warm up race at Calshot.<br />
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Anyway, the point was that, somewhere in the back of my head, my inner chimp was paraphrasing Jody Cundy and ranting 'did I just waste six weeks of my life for that'? This event had been part of a expertly thought out and executed build up and I had gone in to the event in what was, for me, a fairly fit state. There had been no set backs in the build up, unlike last year when I got a bit of blackthorn in my knee that caused it to swell up to the size of a grapefruit. Believe me, being unable to bend your knee does little to aid your training program. All of that, plus £15 entry fee and 3 hours drive up here and I got spat out the back within the first 10 laps.<br />
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Luckily, redemption came in my next event, the Devil Take The Hindmost. This had nobody at all in it called Alessandro, although it did have a Vojtech but we'll gloss over that. It also had James in his first endurance event of the day, plus all the riders from the women's events. This race set off at a considerably more reasonable pace. Not slow by any means but I found that I could tuck in nicely and stay out of trouble. Now, the point of a devil is that every lap, the last rider across the line is eliminated. And by eliminated, they drop out of the race, they're not murdered or anything. But still, in this race there is usually as big a fight to not be the first out as there is to win it. Escpecially seeing as that, on the start line, we'd spotted a couple of Slades Farm regulars (Guy and Alan McRae) leaning over the fence, watching. What happened in Herne would most definately not be staying in Herne. So, I'm ashamed to say that I felt no little delight in hearing my two south coast colleagues' names being called before mine came up. The commentator was David Harmon, no less, and the same voice that would be saying names such as Fabian Cancellara and Peter Sagan two whole days later called mine as I got boxed in at the back. I'll have to get myself a shorter bike.<br />
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After this was a long respite, when the stayers ran. Big Triumph Thunderbird motorbikes, pacing guys on wierd bicycles. The old hands, James, Les, Adam and Me, remained detatched and cynical, applauding the theatre rather than the sport if you know what I mean while Good Friday newb Jason watched wide eyed in amazement. 'OH MY GOD THAT WAS AMAZING' he said, much as I had back in 2005. Meanwhile, we had to stay warm, riding on our rollers and waiting our next race, which was the Ron Beckett scratch. This was again run at a most defiately reasonable pace. Not slow but definately reasonable. Herne is a beautiful track to ride and to race on, especially in a 45 rider bunch, very fast, very flowing and with just enough banking to make it fun. For this race, I hung around the back till I got bored then made my way up the front and did a bit of an effort on the front. One rider had broken away and I had that 'do I bridge across or chase him down?' moment, by which time I'd run out of puff. My phisiology is mostly fast twitch muscle fibres but not very many off them. I can put one (fairly) big dig in then explode, which is what I did. My time on the front came to an end just as the proper fast guys decided to stop mincing about and put their foot down. The breakaway rider got caught in the final corner, which was exciting.<br />
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And then, there was only time left for the keirin final before the big finale, the Golden Wheel. This was a 20km scratch race and open to everybody, from Robert Forstermann to Marcel Kulz to me. I'd just got off my bike only to be persuaded by Adam to get back up there. 'You may as well' he said and he's quite a big chap so I agreed. Les and James rode too and, once again it was acase of 'get in and hang on as long as you can'. Which I did. I'm not telling you how long that was - that's my little secret. I probably could have lasted a couple of laps longer if I'd really busted a gut but hey. The biggest endurance test was yet to come, driving back out of London via Croydon in the dark after having had contact lenses in since 6.45 that morning and on a major post-race adrenaline comedown.</div>
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<br /><br /></a></a>zoom gordohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08257405294034433922noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3024861499175743586.post-38819511768965785932013-03-25T12:07:00.003-07:002013-03-25T12:07:54.163-07:00No Whey, Dude<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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And so rolls by another week. As Boromir points out above, winter is still here. In fact, winter is here and is turning up the cold, while laughing in our frigid, frostbitten faces. Snow swept across the country and virtually every race in the whole country got cancelled.<br />
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All races? Well, not quite. One race held out at Portsmouth's Mountbatten center. Actually, two: there was the Wally Gimber (a proper race on proper roads and with proper riders) down in Kent but everywhere North of the wall was thick with snow. This made the turn out for my own targetted event somewhat better than you'd expect for a 3rd cat race held right next to the sea in temperatures below 5 degrees.<br />
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Last week, as you will recall, the race was held in rain that got steadily heavier as the day wore on. In the final 'elite' race, riders were pulling out cos their fingers were too numb to change gear. This week, there was no rain but the temperature was lower. I know this cos I started my "warm up" on the rollers fully dressed, in vest, smelly hansen base layer, long leggings over roubaix shorts, club jersey and long sleeved club jersey on under a padded gillet, tracksuit bottoms and a fleece. The "warm up" took about an hour, successively peeling off layers of clothing, using the feeling in my toes as a gauge of how well I was progressing.<br />
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Actually, I didn't spend the entire hour doing a striptease on my rollers. There was the usual hanging around and talking to everybody. Too many to name induvidually but the Fielding family and Morgan Williams get special mention for bringing me coffee! Also, Ellie Gilham, who's numbers I pinned onto her. She was warming up on her rollers at the time and, despite the act of pinning on numbers involves an awful lot of safety pins and holding still, she seemed fine with this. And, while I was busy making sure that I was sticking the pins through her many layers of clothing and not her skin, the fourth cat race ended with it's obligatory stack up. Next door, in the club room, Hoops had joked 'oh, last lap, wait for the crash' and, sure enough one rider managed to finish the race on his face. He landed right in front of Ellie, who was either deep in 'the zone' or not particularly bothered by someone face-planting a few meters from her. She didn't miss a beat, while I, also, managed to complete my task without drawing blood. The poor guy on the floor ended up down A+E, with several stitches being put into a gash above his eyebrow. He hobbled back into the venue during the elite race to pick his bike up, so another shout out is due for Portsmouth General and the NHS, patching us all up as we smack ourselves up in the line of entertainment.<br />
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Ellie did the women's race, finishing second, then rolled up to the line in my race. As did I, feeling a little better this week. So apparently doing a race makes you fitter, who knew? Anyway, this was similar to last week's in being 40 minutes plus three laps. And, also similar to last week, there were an awful lot of us. There is an ideal position to be in in a race which is quite near to - but not actually on - the front. If you can stay there all day then you're laughing. Unfortunately the other 40 or so guys (and one girl) in the race are also aware of this and these 40 or so guys (and one girl) are all trying to find that ideal spot too. These leads to a sort of 'meta-strategy' - positioning is what wins these races and it's one thing to know where you SHOULD be and quite another to actually be there. Also, as I had next week's shenanigan's very much in mind, it was not enough for me to just sit in the bunch but I had to attack off the front a few times, too. As a strategy based around intervals, this worked quite well: I would find my way to the front, then attack for half a lap, then sit up. The bunch would swallow me back up and, in the time that it took me to find my way back to the front again, I'd had more than enough time to recover.<br />
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As mentioned earlier, everybody in this race knew how to ride a road race and everybody knew that the 40 minutes were up soon. However the guys on the start line with the lap board were no where to be seen and this lead to a couple of laps of holding position near the front, teeth gritted, hissing 'Show the goddamn board already' until they ambled back across the track. Then, finally, here it came. Three laps to go. Almost imediately, the pace slowed, as everybody at the front of the race slowed while everybody at the back was trying their damndest to move forwards. This caused a lot of shouting, and drawing in of elbows before, thankfully, the race speeded up again.<br />
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Now, my usual gripe at this point is that I enter the final lap dead last or close to after getting knocked about in the bunch. However this week, I pedalled harder, stuck my elbows out and... got swamped in the last third of a lap. Everybody, seemed to be pedalling harder than me and so I finished somewhere in the bunch, resigned but not entirely unhappy with my day's troubles. The warm glow that I had won at the cost of several thousand callories lasted barely minutes after I had got off the track. It definately did not last as I watched the elite race, run at about twice the speed but with half the number of riders. Then it was all over bar the discussions about whey protein. Apparently it just tastes like chalk whatever you do to it.<br />
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So, onwards and upwards. Although, ideally, keeping both wheels on the ground as you do so. All I ask is seven more days of dry weather. Just give me that, I don't give two hoots how warm it is.<br />
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zoom gordohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08257405294034433922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3024861499175743586.post-70691346237826774522013-03-18T12:55:00.004-07:002013-03-18T12:55:53.337-07:00Generic Post-Race PostSo, I finally got to do a race. <br />
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This week, I turned up once again at the Mountbatten Centre in Portsmouth and THIS time, the race HADN'T been moved to Wiltshire. And, while Castle Coombe had (apparently) been absolute brass monkeys, this week I threw back the curtains to leaden skies and heavy, unrelenting rain. Great.<br />
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Unfortunately, as I'm currently in training for Good Friday in just under a fortnight, the option of pulling the duvet cover back over my head wasn't really on the table. So, down to Portsmouth I went, through rain, then heavy rain, then light rain and then heavy rain again. By some small miracle, by the time that I eventually arrived at the track, the rain had stopped. Portsmouth had never looked so lovely.<br />
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Now, a quick explaination for anyone not already up to speed: Portsmouth Mountbatten Centre is a bike track. Well, it's a sports centre as well as a bike track but that's not important right now. It used to be a very big oval, but then had the sports centre built over it so is now in the shape of a 'D'. However, despite being a cycle track - as in track cycling - the race being run was a road race - as in road racing. 'Closed circuit road race' is the official term I believe, for bikes with brakes and more than one gear. This was significant as track races don't run in the rain while road races do.<br />
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Ironically, nearly a year ago I rode the Kingsbury Cup at this track, which was curtailed due to the rain. We did the 15 lap headliner event in an increasing down pour and I remember backing off on the last lap because of it. If I hadn't, I could've won the thing I tell you. Anyhoo, the irony was that today, a bunch of kids races, a 4th cats* race, a women's race, a 3rd cats race* and an E/1/2s were all run on the self same track in various conditions of downpour. I guess trackies are just big wussies.<br />
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True enough, the rain came on just as we lined up for the start of my race. Just to recap, it was a 'road race' for road (race) bikes on a (slightly) banked track, lasting 40 minutes plus 3 laps. To cut a long story short, from my pov the race looked like this:<br />
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Except that it was raining so perhaps a little more like this:<br />
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In fact, it soon panned out that the race went the same way that every other race that I've ever done at this track went. It started hard and I spent the first 10 mins chewing the handlebars, then fought my way upfront, found it not too particularly bad up there and then had a little dig of my own which, though initially successful, did not stick. Then, as soon as I got caught the break that turned out to be 'the' break of the race went away. No one seemed that bothered about chasing them, so we all fought for 6th and, on the final lap I found myself in dead last position so chose not to fight my way to the front in the last 400m.<br />
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Just to prove how hard it all had been, I even took a picture of the 11 sprocket, where my chain had spent the entire race.<br />
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And then it was all over bar the coughing and the changing out of sodden clothing and moaning about the weather. 'Our' Harrison bagged himself a pretty decent third place in a much harder race in much worse weather.<br />
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And best of all, we'll all be back there next week for a little more.<br />
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*4th cat = fourth category. Entry level racing. Riders have to score points for high finishes in order to <strike>escape</strike> move to higher categories.<br />
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<br />zoom gordohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08257405294034433922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3024861499175743586.post-80768134399676540452013-03-15T05:03:00.000-07:002013-03-15T05:03:14.200-07:00Hubris (Calling Time On Hub Gears)I think that I've already mentioned on here that I really like axes. Now, I know this may sound a bit wierd but bere in mind that I do live in the country and work as a groundsman. My love of axes is less to do with their leathal capabilities than the delight in snicking a lump of wood in two with one swipe. But more than that, the thing that I most love about axes is that you can fish a lump of intricately carved stone from before the last ice age out of a Lough in County Down (as my Great Grandfather did once) and it will, to all intents and purposes, resemble the head of the axe what you could go down the hardware store and buy right now.<br />
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Somebody, tens of thousands of years ago, worked out that if you put your sharpened stone on the end of a stick, it massively improves it's performance. And in those subsequent tens of thousands of years, while the materials have been refined hugely, the general principal remains the same. Sharp, heavy blade on the end of a stick. Sorted.<br />
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It's very similar with a bicycle: when the origional Rover safety bicycle was introduced in 1880-whatever, they got it right. Two equally sized wheels, the front steering, the rear driven by a chain drive, connected by a light but solid frame. Sorted. There is a reason why a phrase exists that goes 'don't try to reinvent the bicycle'.<br />
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So, on the subject of reinventing the bicycle, it didn't take long before people tried doing it better. Some things worked and some didn't. The freewheel, for instance, improved bicycle performance hugely. Much as I love a fixed wheel, even I can admit that a freewheel does help hugely for getting back down the hill afterwards. Then there was the more complicated matter of changing gears without having to take your back wheel off, which was first tackled with the Sturmey Archer 3 speed hub gear. This was a phenomenal leap forward for it's time and became very popular with touring and 'ordinary' bikes right up to the 80s. The roadies, meanwhile, stuck sullenly to their fixed wheels for the while, for reasons that will become obvious in a few paragraphs time. They had to wait till the invention of the derailleur system (see here: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Derailleur_gears">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Derailleur_gears</a>).<br />
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Incidentally, if you ever have seen the origional Campagnolo gear change, it is hilarious:<br />
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Yes, folks, right there is the reason why fixed wheel stayed so prevelant for so long.<br />
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Anyway, there's a lot to be said for a system called a quick release (also invented by Tullio Campagnolo - this one worked a little better). With the invention of the derailleur and the quick release, p*******s were no longer an issue. Well, they were but the whole issue of repairing them did not require a full set of spanners and a bike stand. Tyre goes flat, undo the quick release, back of the hand bangs the rim, tyre comes out and, if you're doing it right, your team mechanic is already there with a shiny new wheel with it's fully pumped up tyre, ready to ride. If the chain isn't in exact alignment with the sprockets, you adjust the gear lever and, within seconds you're back racing at full pelt.<br />
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This is an excellent example of racing improving the breed. Through racing, the bicycle became more aerodynamic, the position became more efficient, the natural losses through rolling resistance were reduced to negligible levels, the machine could be broken apart and repaired easily. Whatever anybody says, the racing bicycle is the most refined and efficient bicycle available. If you want to race, get a racer. If you want to commute, get a more sturdily built racer. If you want to tour, get a very sturdily built racers with mudguards, pannier racks and clearence for bullet proof tyres. Thanks to the efforts of all those Tour de France racers, your machine for your camping tour of the Dordoyne will be the most all round efficient available. <br />
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So, with the invention of the derailleur and it's general, overwhelming, superiority to all other systems, you'd think that the hub gear's days were numbered. However, you'd be wrong. As I mentioned, they persisted in low end shopping type bikes for many years, mostly due to their bomb proof reliability. Out of it's natual enviroment, the sturmey archer 3 speed does indeed look like a hand grenade and indeed, the device itself has a longer life than a 10 speed freewheel hub. And, in the bike boom that we are currently in the middle of, the hub gear made a come back. <br />
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Certain belligerents - often designers but usually eccentric cyclists of which there are a huge many - decided to willfully ignore the right way to do things and started arguing that the racing bicycle was an anomaly and, outside the ghetto of European professional cycle racing, the hub gear was king. This was true. The majority of bikes in India, China and so forth are indeed horrible heavy old clunkers but this is not nessecairily a good thing. You wouldn't use a Lada to explain why an Audi was an ineffiecient design, so why would you use a flying pigeon?<br />
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Then we move on to the 'Dutch bike' or, as it's called in the Netherlands 'a bike'. This is a 'classic' design, based on the roadsters that were popular between the 30s and 50s. Or 80 to 50 years ago in old money. I'll just say that again in case it didn't sink in: 'this was a design popular between 80 to 50 years ago'. Oddly, nobody today drives around in a modern car based on the design of an Austin Ambassador, yet 'Dutch bikes' are all the rage. Yes, they are prevelant in Holland but then cycling is very popular in Holland. It might even be that, due to the fantastic cycling infrastructure in that country, people don't need a bicycle that works well. In Britain, where every roundabout is like an extreme sport, I'd rather have a bicycle that works properly, thank you.<br />
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To briefly explain the flaws in the 'Dutch bike', the position is completely wrong. You sit bolt upright, with all your weight pressing down your spine onto your backside. For this you need a huge, padded saddle that will chafe like crazy before long. Also, you couldn't get your position less aerodynamic if you stapled a sheet of plywood to the back. And the thing is epicly heavy, so your poor legs have to work extra hard from your inefficient position to push not only the weight of the thing but your upright body through the air and the steer via a pair of handle bars that look like something out of Easy Rider. These tend to get stuck on your knees if you have to turn any more than about 5 degrees.<br />
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And then, finally, we move onto the massive weakness that is a hub gear. This has 'evolved' since the days of the Sturmey Archer 3 speed, to now encompas a dizzy 8 gears (unlike the 22 of your average derailleur) and a huge cost of massive internal drag and weight. Pick up a wheel with an 8spd hub and tell me that you don't notice the difference. Tell me, in fact, as soon as you've got back from A+E. So, we already have all of the rider's weight resting over the back, then we add in this cannonball of a hub gear, then we add the not inconsiderable weight of the bike itself, plus your shopping in the panniers. All this rests on a single tyre, which is therefore virtually guarenteed to pop. And then, all these high falutin words about mechanical simplicity ring very hollow as you first have to unscrew the mudguard, then unscrew (yes, unscrew, no quick release here) the back wheel, then release the cable that attaches the hub gear to it's shifter (you remembered your needle pliers, didn't you?) and only then go through the labourious process of either removing or repairing the inner tube. Then you have to do the whole process in reverse, ensuring that the gear is set up correctly and the mudguard is not rubbing on the tyre. And, bearing in mind the aforementioned massive design flaw of the whole thing, you can guarentee that the thing will go pop again soon. And it will be the back tyre. And it'll probably have a few broken spokes as well.<br />
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Meanwhile, the sensible people who bought a proper, modern bike, all whizz past, asking if you need assistance. <br />
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Maybe it was advice you needed? Get yourself a proper bike.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/og6_ba000mI" width="420"></iframe><br />zoom gordohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08257405294034433922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3024861499175743586.post-89465561333099558352013-03-10T11:02:00.001-07:002013-03-10T11:02:29.299-07:00Work Is The Curse Of The Drinking ClassesWhy haven't you put a post on GWOZ for ages, said everybody. Well, when I said everybody I mean more than one person. Possibly. Anyway, in answer to the question you've all apparently been clamouring to ask, I've been busy. And most of that being busy has involved stuff that isn't really all that interesting, even by the standards of this blog. <br />
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Here is the interesting stuff that I've done since the last post:<br />
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Monday: Start my 'summer job' up again on a day that is indeed quite summery, at least for early March. The first day's task involves grabbing a spade and digging a load of mud out of a big hole. This then has to be barrowed into a trailer and then taken away and dumped. The dumping involves shovelling the exact same amount of mud out of the trailer. By the end of the day - and after 4 months of sitting on my backside -this task has me on the floor. <br />
However, no rest for the wicked. I ride home, suffering a sodding great nail through my tyre in the first mile. This is a pain as I'm on a tight schedule, having about an hour to get home, get changed, eat, get my bike in the car and meet the Bournemouth University Cycling Club at the Uni. We're off to Portsmouth to ride the Chester Hill's road race training session at the track at the Mountbatten centre. The guys, who all want to race, needed some big, high speed bunch experience and this we got in spades at Chester's excellent session. This lasts an hour and then all the bikes are squeezed back into my van while the riders are squeezed into John's car and we head back to B-town. All in all, I don't get home till 10.30, whereupon I mumble hello to Mrs Zoom and then head straight up to bed.<br />
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Tuesday: An 'easy' day though, after yesterday's shenanigans, I still ache. Bed at 9.30.<br />
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Wednesday: Road training in the morning (I'm on a 3 day week at my 'summer job'), track training in the afternoon. I run the track training, rather than ride it so it counts as 'rest'. The day involves a 1 1/2 hr wait, which I spend at the university. I wander into the university bookshop and leave with 2 thick text books that had been massively reduced. Students on sports-related courses aren't great readers, as both myself and the lady in the bookshop had ourselves a good laugh about. The downside is that these books weigh about a kilo each and have to be lugged home.<br />
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The evening is taken up with meetings, first for the aforementioned BUCC, then I leave that early, ride about a mile and arrive at a BCC (Bournemouth Cycling Centre) meeting for more stroking of metaphorical beards. Home at 9.30.<br />
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Thursday: Back to proper work, although most of the morning is taken up with a 'meeting' that gives ample opportunity for rest, although I do learn a few things that I didn't know about oak trees.<br />
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Friday: My one 'lie in' this week, then out in the rain to teach cycling road safety to adults. Sorting out this session had been chaotic but my disgruntlement melted away when I discovered that a large proportion of this group would be made up of attractive young ladies. What a way to celebrate international Women's day by getting some women riding bikes. In the rain.<br />
The rain stopped and the BUCC guys all came out again for a ride over Studland way. Wierdly, I started this ride feeling absolutely hanging but finished feeling on super form. This may have had something to do with wind direction.<br />
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Saturday: Up early, dogs and Mrs Zoom in the car as we're hunting bargains up Gloucestershire way. And on that way, a few miles south of Malmsbury, we happen upon a gravel truck that has fallen on it's side after getting a wheel stuck in a ditch. We were about the 3rd car on the scene but, this being rural Wiltshire, within a minute, half the stopped cars had got hi vis jackets out of their cars and were calmly organising proceedings. Everyone seemed to work in some occupation where accidents were a frequent occurance (farms, building sites etc) and had first aid skills and a phlagmatic attitude to a crisis. We did what we could - the driver looked to be ok, apart from being a little shooken up - and then carried on our way.<br />
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The event we were heading to was the monthly bike jumble outside of Tetbury, <a href="http://www.mybikejumble.net/">http://www.mybikejumble.net/</a> and was a benefit for a charity who acquired old unwanted bikes, refurbished them and shipped them to West Africa. Us rich first worlders got first dibs on these bikes and, as well as that, there was a huge amount of stock donated (or possibly sold) by large internet bike chains like <a href="http://www.wiggle.co.uk/">Wiggle</a> and <a href="http://www.wiggle.co.uk/">Chain Reaction Cycles</a> and the like. This was mostly returns and left overs, so the deal very quickly became to search for anything that wasn't either XXL or XXS and then check if there were any major flaws. If not then, bingo, that's a brand new pair of shorts for £20. Or indeed a brand new Miche Pistard wheel set for £50. This was <a href="http://www.wiggle.co.uk/miche-pistard-wr-track-bike-wheelset/">a bit of a mark down</a> on the retail price so I thought, thanks very much.<br />
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The rest of the day was spent in the nearby town or Tetbury, where I lived till I was 6, with a wander through the old railway yard where I first learnt to ride a bike, way back in 1979. It's got a bit posher since the Zoom family moved out (not entirely as consequence I should point out).<br />
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Sunday: And finally, a race day and a thing that I could actually write about. Up at 7, stuff into the van and away to Portsmouth again. I arrive just before the 4th cats should'a been starting their race, to find the gate to the track locked. Inside the track, a load of joggers are ambling around the athletics track but nothing bike related seems to be going on. After cranking my android phone into life, then negotiating a teeny tiny and tectonically slow version of the British Cycling website, I discovered that there had been a venue change to Castle Coombe, way over in Wiltshire. Where I was yesterday. In the official British Cycling calendar, that dropped through my letterbox all of two months ago, the venue was clearlymarked as Portsmouth, but....<br />
I have to assume that, due to the lack of other cyclists scratching their heads outside at 10.15 on Sunday 10th March, that everybody else must have got the message. But I mean, it's not as if I'm a hermit living in a cave or something. And at least the good citizens of Portsmouth got to laugh at the guy in bike gear shouting 'CASTLE ****ING COOMBE and then punching his van.<br />
After an hour's drive home, I went out and rode up some hills. It was cold. My shins went numb.<br />
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And that, in short, is why I haven't written a post this week.zoom gordohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08257405294034433922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3024861499175743586.post-68391691426557682662013-02-26T13:12:00.000-08:002013-02-26T13:15:20.001-08:00Schism (The Go Belgian! Post)Those of you with their fingers on the pulse of the cycling world - those of you surfing the breaching wave of cycle-mania as it sweeps across this fair country of ours - may have noticed a polarisation amongst the various types of cycling advocates. Obviously, there are more than two tribes. There are probably as many 'tribes' as there are cyclists. As both a sport and a mode of transport, it does tend to attract the veremently independant, which is never great when it comes to making a group decision. But, for the purposes of convenience, I will narrow them down to two tribes.<br />
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The first is the long suffering club cyclist, aka the wierdos in lycra: a put upon minority, hated equally by car drivers, mountain bikers and anybody else that they overtake. Usually male, usually white, usually over 30, they are derided for riding bikes that have actually had a little thought put into their design and - heaven forbid - appear to be actually enjoying themselves when they ride. They are, apparently, 'too macho' to appreciate the lot of other cyclists, travelling on the road at a foolhardy 20mph and ruining the show for anybody that thinks they should be slaloming round lamposts and dismounting every 200m or so on the adjoining cyclepath that the long suffering tax player has so selflessly provided for them.<br />
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Then there is the other tribe, the eco warrior cyclist. Usually either male or female, often from an ethnic minority although often not, usually aged between 15 and 90, these types are driven by an insane, unworkable idea that maybe, just maybe, we shouldn't be throwing the planet's dwindling resources onto an ever-growing bonfire of pointless consumerism. This lot sometimes don't even know the groupset of the bike that they're riding. Their pedaling technique is awful and not even the men shave their legs. They revel in pointless, flat journeys to local shops where they load their poor, suffering bikes down with free range, fair trade goods from discernable traders and then ride it all slowly home. Sometimes its as if they don't even want to push their quorn-filled bodies to their physical limit.<br />
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In both parties defence, all cyclists should thank the macho, male club rider. It was them and their Fathers and their Father's Fathers who kept the pilot light on during the dark days. And their Mothers, even though that was mostly making the tea afterwards. Their obsession with this freaky continental sport kept cyclists as a visible presence on our roads when the tourers and commuters had all died out. Then, their Olympic antics made cycling cool again. And if you ever saw a club cyclist with his shirt off, you wouldn't be able to call him macho without laughing.<br />
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Meanwhile, the eco-cyclist, with their constant hectoring to the powers that be - while the club cyclists were hissing at them to shut up and keep their heads down in case somebody noticed - has improved cycling immeasurably. Critical mass, parlimentary lobbying and facing down the motoring lobby has helped all cyclists countrywide. We are an increasing body of individuals with growing power and influence. We are awesome, all of us, no matter what we ride, nor how quickly or slowly that we choose to ride it.<br />
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Given all of this, you think that we'd get on a little better. Which brings us the the scism between these two tribes, which can be described in two words: cycle paths. The club cyclist, being morally obliged to travel above 20mph/30km/h at all times for fear of ridicule, looks upon bike paths with distain. This is mostly because bike paths in this country are shit. The eco cyclist sees the cycle path as a blessed haven for all riders who aren't a weight and gear-ratio obsessed twiglet. Unlike the club cyclist, they see the wonderful shangrai-la that is Dutch, German and Danish cycling infrastructure. They see a future where parents and school kids trundle to school along wide, flowing bike paths, instead of being ferried there in a vehicle that wouldn't look out of place in Helmand province.<br />
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As anybody will tell, you, in-fighting is rarely a good way to move your cause forward. Is there, I wondered, a compromise that both parties could be happy with? Then I wondered about the current 'go Dutch' campaign, which is trying currently bending the uninterested ear of the government, suggesting that, you know, maybe it would be good if cyclists didn't keep being squashed by trucks and stuff. Dutch style cycling infrastructure is the way to go. Or Danish. Or German. It is, it really, really is. However, some in the club cycling community look upon that with suspicion.<br />
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After 60 years of retreating and regrouping, they fear a future dystopia of wiggiling along narrow, half arsed, glass strewn roadside cycle paths as pariahs of the road in their cycling ghetto. They got into the sport for the joy of barrelling along country lanes and would like to carry on doing that, thank you very much. The more that I think of it, the more I think the problem is in the logo: 'go Dutch'.<br />
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Put yourself in the cleated shoes of you average club cyclist. Go Dutch, you say? Isn't Holland the area just North of where the interesting stuff happens? As for Denmark- wooly jumpers, intricately plotted murders and EPO riddled tour contenders. Germany? A likeable good looser to the LancE POstal Tour machine and a pro team sponsored by milk. At least East Germany co-hosted a decent race with Poland and Czechslovakia and provided the blue print for how to win a load of Olympic golds really quickly. And even then there were cheating bastards. Nor does it help that the Netherland's one decent race - the Amstel Gold - is made ludicrously dangerous by the huge amount of road furniture that there is on Dutch roads.<br />
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And the solution? It's simple, go Belgian. Belgium has cycle infrastructure, just like the Netherlands. Belgium, like the Netherlands, has priority for cycles on cycle ways over cars on roads. Belgium has strict liability, where it is assumed to the responsibility of the driver of the dangerous, licensed, vehicle to not run anyone over rather than the other way around. And yet, the cycling infrastructure of Belgium is tested on a daily basis by the hardest, fastest cyclists on the planet. I have seen a belgian club cyclist over taking a bus in the outside lane of a dual carriageway, bareheaded and chewing on an energy bar. Admitedly this was well before they started cracking down on drug use but the point remains that at somepoint in his ride, this testosterone filled man-missile turned off this dual carriage way and onto a wielerbaan that both he and the old lady that we had just passed with the loaves of bread in her front basket could both make equal use of. Then he would stop off at the bakers for a rice-tart before winding by the bar for a glass of Duval before heading home for massage and then an early night in his hypoxic tent. <br />
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Back in Ghent, students thundered up and down through tram lines and cobbled streets on tatty old bikes, all day and night. In a bar that we visited, an amatuer racer had trundled the few kms of tow path into town in civvys on his ratty old puch to hang with his mate, who had moved there from Australia to go racing Belgian-style. Now, excellent as Dutch cycling facilities are, I bet there is nobody that moved halfway across the world purely because of them.<br />
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So here we go. It starts now:<br />
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Go Belgian! A race for every village.<br />
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Go Belgian! You won't notice those potholes for cobbles.<br />
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Go Belgian! Its not a ride to school, it's a RACE to school.<br />
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Go Belgian! Where being a cyclist gets you laid.<br />
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Go Belgian! Where nobody just 'is' a cyclist.<br />
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You know it makes sense.zoom gordohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08257405294034433922noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3024861499175743586.post-64465832897642100262013-02-25T12:39:00.003-08:002013-02-25T12:39:42.744-08:00I have absolutely no idea what's going on here. I think it's a kind of gangnam style thing.
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/SvxerTuz9Jg?list=PLVTkSwIlQDulwvxaPWPRZU_l255pE3kvN" width="560"></iframe>zoom gordohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08257405294034433922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3024861499175743586.post-48128370522403260562013-02-21T04:30:00.003-08:002013-02-21T04:30:35.438-08:00(National) School (Of Racing)'s Out For Summer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So you've probably worked out what the deal is with this blog by now: I start with some random topic, rattle on about that for a paragraph and then link into what ever it is I've been doing on a bike lately. Well, I'm afraid to say that there's something about a 5.30am start that stops you wanting to waste a whole paragraph on waffle. So, it goes like this: at 6am, I get picked up by Heidi and the Fielding family and we all head up to Castle Coombe for the National School of Racing.<br />
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I've already attended a <a href="http://zoom-gordo.blogspot.co.uk/?view=flipcard#!/2012/10/keirin-school.html"> Regional School Of Racing</a> day at Newport. They are for 'youth A' (under 16) and 'youth B' (under 14) categories and club coaches such as myself are invited to come along and help out. The National School Of Racing was very similar, only with the following exceptions: It was open to all youth A & B riders from the south and it was on the motor racing circuit at Castle Coombe. And by 'south', there were riders attending from Cardiff in the West to Essex in the East. Two days later, the 'north' was catered for at Cadwell Park in Lincolnshire (or 'Linkin Park' as I refered to it all day) - another motor racing track that, unlike the pan flat Castle Coombe, has a section in it called 'the mountain'. Therein might be the reason why riders from the north of England have such a fearsome reputation but I'm getting ahead of myself here.<br />
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So, the day's task was to take all these youth riders and get them comfortable in riding in a big group. From our club Poole Wheelers, we had Ali, Eve, Becci and Becca. One boy and three girls all in their first full season of racing, except for Becca who's been racing pretty much since the stabilisers came off*. Harrison, veteran of several of these schools, was now too old to ride had brought his bike and kit. He'd suggested that I do the same 'so that we can go for a ride' but something about the whole getting myself up AND dressed AND my bike out of the shed for a 6am meet in the middle of town had me not bothering.<br />
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I was soon regretting this, as the day's session had riders split into four categories (youth A boys & girls, youth B boys & girls) each of which were allocated a coach, plus several 'helpers'. This was so that, if a rider had a mechanical or an accident, a responsible adult could drop out of the group to help them while they sorted themselves out. Therefore, the whole group would not have to grind to a halt and waste valuble track time. Well that was the official line - it looked more like a case of barrelling round a pan flat, smooth as glass race track on a beautifully sunny, wind free day while getting to have a laugh with about 150 hugely enthused stars of the future. You could say that I was kicking myself for not taking up that offer to bring my bike with me, especially as the alternative was the no less important but considerably less exciting job of 'roving marshal'. This involved walking around the circuit and dealing with any fallers or mechanicals that the riding marshals may have missed.<br />
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That said, it was a beautiful, bright day with skylarks singing above the ploughed infield and I have my suspicions that us club coaches were sent round there purely so that we could pass each other every 10 minutes or so, say hello and talk briefly and thus improve networks and relations within the southern cycle coaching community. In amongst this was Tim Buckle bombing round on a 100cc Yamaha. I'm not entirely sure what his actual job description was in this event but he seemed to be having a whale of a time. I said as much to him: 'This is basically a cheap track day for you, isn't it?' and he pointed to his 100cc Yamaha and said 'well it's not much of a track day on this, is it?':<br />
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For the stars of the future, meanwhile, the days task involved riding round in a big bunch, leaning on each other, moving through the bunch and so on and so forth. Then the boys & girls would combine to produce an even bigger bunch, then the 'A's and 'B's would combine into the full 100 rider (ish, I didn't actually count them) bunch. Then, after a short break, we moved on to an excersize running down the very narrow and very wiggly pitlane. Riders were expected to ride four abrest, each starting in their groups, then four riders from each group going off the front, working together to bridge across to the next group, then working their way right through this group on the narrow, windy pitlane and then heading on back to their own group. <br />
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Following this, came a half hour break for lunch. One of the things the racing schools drumb into these kids is induvidual responsibility and they were all expected to keep munching away on food all through the day - an almost complete turn around from a 'normal' school on both counts. To those of us who'd been wandering the outer circuit like damned souls, it was a chance to fuel up before going back out again.<br />
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It was at this point that my earlier regret at not being a 'flying marshal' or whatever waned slightly. Harrison clocked 60 miles in the day. A coach from Palmer Park (who's name I didn't catch) counted 50. By lunch, many of the kids were looking exhausted and, fueled up with lunch, they went out again to practise echelons (<a href="http://www.myprojects.co.nz/cycling_riding_strategically.html">http://www.myprojects.co.nz/cycling_riding_strategically.html</a>). This, as with much else on the day, was a stroke of genius from whoever had thought up the lesson plan. Get them knackered, THEN get them to learn to cling desperately on to a wheel. Genius. <br />
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The final effort, as the sun was starting to dip a little low was a handicap race. This, too, had the look of something built up after years of experience: Riders were asked to rate themselves honestly into categories based on how knackered they were. This resulted in much gamesman ship from the cannier riders. 'I'll say I'm knackered and get an easy ride'. But then a composite team was made up from each group. From the completely on the floor group, a 'lead' rider was chosen. Each group got one of these riders and their job was to shepard this rider to the finish line. Then, they were set off, weakest riders first, with the strongest group not let off the leash until the weakest group were practically in sight. They raced over three laps, with the strong riders having to make up practically that whole lap.<br />
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Watching from the start line with the Poole Wheelers crowd of me, Graham, Heidi And Jane, we were all absolutely delighted to see Eve, Becki and Becca drilling it on the front. This was into the final 10 miles of 60ish miles of riding. They were all knackered and hurting but came past totally drilled, totally committed, looking like the HTC-Highroad lead out train. Ali, a 'protected' rider in a different group, actually ended up dumping his group as it was passed by a faster group, using his nous, if not strictly sticking to the rules of the game.<br />
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Amusingly, one rider from Twickenham CC broke clear in the final 100 metres and crossed the line, both arms raised, to the shout of 'where's your bib?' from Tim. The 'protected' riders all had bibs on to identify them and they were the only riders that counted in this excersize. But try getting anything to stick in a teenagers brains for 10 minutes...<br />
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And that was it, apart from the debrief and those 150 teenagers all changing and repacking their kit bags and then the drive home. 2 hrs for us, including a stop in McDonalds, plus a lot of coaching tips from the boys to their Mum. 'They'll sleep tonight', everybody was saying. I know I did, though that may have been due to the 5.30 start.<br />
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*I am fully expecting a ticking off from Graham saying 'she NEVER rode with stabilisers'.zoom gordohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08257405294034433922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3024861499175743586.post-86572687718017254742013-02-11T10:34:00.000-08:002013-02-11T10:45:14.204-08:00Battle Without Honour Or Humanity (The Photos)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The D Day Memorial Hall at Southwick, yesterday.</div>
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....Temporarily transformed from a naval base to a bike park for very expensive bikes.</div>
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And here is the Fielding family, about to go toe to toe with big teams like Metaltek-Scott and UK Youth. The bike is a brand new top of the range Giant loaned - ie handed to him for free - by the bike shop Cycle Paths. Harrison managed to wreck his existing Scott and called them in a panic and they sorted him out with this one 'for as long as you need'. That, if nothing else, deserves a bit of a plug on here. So that's Cycle Paths, upstairs in the shopping arcade next to the bus station in Poole. <a href="http://www.cycle-paths.co.uk/">http://www.cycle-paths.co.uk/</a></div>
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A decent shop even before they started handing out bikes to junior riders.</div>
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Will also had his very nice Condor handed to him for free by the shop of the same name. I forget where Condor Cycles are based - a decent walk away from Kings Cross station as far as I recall. Despite being a 'team' rider, he was here as a free lancer, helped by the Gilchrist family but otherwise sorting his own stuff out.</div>
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Everybody on the start line. At this point, there's a lot of bravado...</div>
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...Most of which has been washed away by a lap and a half into the race. On the left in the blue waterproofs is Eamonn Deane. These are the lengths that he goes to bring you the best blog on the local cycle scene <a href="http://blog.sportsmassagebournemouth.co.uk/">http://blog.sportsmassagebournemouth.co.uk/</a> Well, second best after this one.</div>
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The bunch. Or 'The Peleton' as people who don't understand cycle racing in this country call it. I know black is in this year but a little garish colour wouldn't go a miss on a day like this.</div>
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Look! There's some. For everyone who slags off our club jersey, here is it's vindication.</div>
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And here's another look at it. Still bright despite an hour on a 'cold, gritty' wash, it shines with pride at being the jersey of the friendliest club in the south. Also note the 1000 yard stare in Harrison's eyes. 'You weren't there, man, you weren't there'. Its either that or the early stages of hypothermia. I was going to take pictures of other race refugees but, judging the general mood in the club house, there was a fair chance that that would have got me punched by someone.</div>
zoom gordohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08257405294034433922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3024861499175743586.post-17587105190181394452013-02-11T02:24:00.002-08:002013-02-11T02:24:33.811-08:00Battle Without Honour Or HumanityI got a new phone in the autumn. One company had left me high and dry - essentialy having me paying £15 a month for a phone that didn't work. I'd like to say that I told them where to stick it but, in actual fact, mobile phone contracts are a kind of modern day version of medieval serfdom and, lacking a pitchfork and an angry mob, all that happened was that I got burned by two mobile phone providers instead of one. <br />
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Anyway, so I got a rather nice HTC phone which is very good, apart from the fact that you pretty much have to perform a juggling trick to get it to answer a call, and for some reason, the button that switches it off or puts it to sleep will also randomly take a screen shot. Therefore, along with all my arty hipstamatic photos of dogs and localised flooding, are completely random pictures of the screen of my mobile phone showing various times of the day. For months, I could not fathom why anyone would want to do that - right up until last weekend when I was staring at the immensly useful weather app and thought of how this would finally come in handy as a usefull illustrative device in my next installement of World Of Zoom.<br />
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Well, you'd think wouldn't you. It seems that, to accidentally take a screen shot, all you have to do is press the button on the top - one of only two actual buttons on the phone. So I did that and would it sodding well take a stuffing picture? No, it turned itself off and on repeatedly (which is what I'm usually trying to achieve when I press that button) for a good 40 minutes until I gave up. I put the phone down and left it for an hour or so, then picked it up for some random reason and.... <br />
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The point that I was trying to illustrate was that it was a bit damp at the weekend. I'd been hoping to get not only my but the first session of 2013 on Bournemouth track for which you need it to be dry. And dry it was - for the whole week, a cold but dry Northerly wind blew. On Wednesday, I got close to running a session but cancelled it after a short rain shower at 11am. The session was at 1pm but there was no way that it would be dry in 2 hours. Well, normally it wouldn't be when its overcast and the temperature's below 7 degrees but, no sooner had I cancelled the session, I returned to what had been a completely sodden track and saw it dry before my very eyes.<br />
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So, the first session on track of 2013 was run 2 days later by a Mr Jason Falconer and *begrudging face* I'm very happy for him. Come the weekend, and Poole Wheeler's scheduled session, a drizzle had settled over the country and the session was again cancelled. Just to get that in context a moment, a track session in early February was cancelled due to poor weather. Cos when you put it in context, that's not all that surprising. Especially if you bear in mind that a road race the same day at Ludgershall, near Andover was also cancelled.<br />
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What wasn't cancelled was the Perf's Pedal Race, the UK road racing season's traditional season opener. This was held the next day a few miles north of Fareham. Basically, you go up the M27 to the turn off to Fareham but instead take the unmarked turning off the roundabout, which leads you into what appears to be the entrance to local landfill site. Push through this and you emerge into some absolutely beautiful rural landscape. At the venue, I ran into Calshot veteran Rob Ward - a local to this area - and asked if this was deliberate to keep the unwashed masses of Fareham and Portsmouth away and recieved the answer that pretty much yes it was. The circuit was an eight mile loop through some lovely Hampshire farmland. It was just a pity that you couldn't see any of it because of the torrential rain. <br />
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For Rob - and anybody else who'd been racing in Belgium for a few years this was a bit 'meh' but for some of our local charges - Harrison Fielding, Will Stephenson and Jordan Wade it was looking a bit daunting. Elite bike riders are skinny enough at the best of times but junior bike riders have even less body fat. This is a good thing if you're racing up the Col du Galibier in July but less good in heavy February rain in Hampshire. Will was resplendent in his new Rapha Condor kit, <a href="http://www.raphacondor.cc/riders-and-staff/will-stephenson">having signed for the team</a> and, well, they say black's slimming... Harrison, meanwhile, was one of about four riders representing a 'proper' cycle club as opposed to a sponsored outfit or a dedicated elite youth squad. Jordan, now with VC St Raphael, used to be a Poole Wheeler and his Dad still is so all in all it was a good turn out for the Bournemouth massive.<br />
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Come 11am and everyone stood shivering in the rain on the start line. The roads were awash and the next 50 miles were to be spent chasing the likes of Marcin Bialoblocki over them. I think brutal is the word. I was offered a ride with the Fielding support team - Harrison's Mum Heidi and little bro Ali and watching on the hill on Boarhunt lane. Well, when we eventually got there. I could tell you that story but Heidi threatened 'this had better not go on your blog', so it will all have to remain a mystery.<br />
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Anyway, we arrived in time for the second run up the climb. A break had got away and Will and Harrison were in the chasing group. Will, I'm afraid to say, merged into the homogeonus brown that the whole buch had become, while Harrison's red and yellow were still showing quite distinctive. After another 20 minutes sat in the long suffering Fielding team bus, with Ali in the back doing his Math's homework, we ventured out into the rain once more. The break went by, the bunch went by and there was no bright red and yellow jersey to be seen. Hoops drove passed, leaned out and told us that he'd packed and gone back to the HQ. So, as soon as we got the car started (oops, sorry Heidi) we rushed back to find her bedraggled, shivering boy sat under a heater. <br />
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The race had a couple more laps to run and, of 'our' lads, everybody seemed dissapointed. Jordan had also dropped out while Will and Rob finished in the bunch. But, as mentioned earlier, IT'S FEBRUARY - there's still a whole season to go. I'm very impressed with you all, for whatever that's worth. Also of note, Adel spent the day marshalling, learning the very important 'don't ride your bike to the race in the sheeting rain then stand around for three hours in your bike gear' lesson. Oli, meanwhile, didn't carry out his threat of running behind the bunch in a mankini up Portsdown hill - a definate bid for a darwin award if ever there was one. Oh and finally Arben, Harry and Ali's (I think) cousin who amazed us with his party trick of chewing a hole in a coke can. He's six. He hasn't been on a bike yet.<br />
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Apparently, he wants to be Bear Gryhlls when he grows up. Should be perfect for Perfs, then. <br />
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Meanwhile, if you want to find out what actually happened and stuff, go check out Eamon's race report here: <a href="http://blog.sportsmassagebournemouth.co.uk/2013/02/bialoblocki-triumphs-at-deluged-perfs.html">http://blog.sportsmassagebournemouth.co.uk/2013/02/bialoblocki-triumphs-at-deluged-perfs.html</a>zoom gordohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08257405294034433922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3024861499175743586.post-61662219801559950152013-02-04T02:12:00.001-08:002013-02-04T02:12:22.251-08:00All Day I Dream About SuccessIf you would let me start with a short and simplified explaination of Gordo's World Of Zoom's favourite subject, the weather, and in particular it's effect on banked out door velodromes...<br />
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In Winter it is cold and damp. Well, it is in this country, which is the country that the banked outdoor velodrome in question is in. For the whole of December and January, the temperature rarely rises above 10 degrees (that's ten degrees centigrade, I have genuinely no idea about degrees of farenheit so you'll have to work that out yourself - big fan as I am of the middle ages, I have no desire to use their weights and measures). <br />
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Now, as the track is banked, there are large parts of it that don't really see the sun, especially this time of year. This means that, throughout December and January, the velodrome is in two states. In the first, it is overcast, damp or actually raining. The track does not dry out and is therefore unrideable. In the second, it is dry and sunny, which means that there will be an overnight frost, which will melt and leave a damp patch on the part of the track that doesn't see the sun, thus making the track unrideable.<br />
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The thing that will get the track dry (eventually) is a high ambient temperature. At the very end of January, I had ridden past the track on my road bike to find the whole track completely bone dry for the first time since November. I completed three laps of the track on my road bike - the first rider to do so in 2013 - and within a few hours, it had started to drizzle and the track was wet again.<br />
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At the moment, for a completely dry track, a particular situation has to exist - a warm(ish) overcast weather front had to be making way for a cold, dry(ish) weather front, which has to fall on exactly the moment that you have hired the track for, when you booked it last year.<br />
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This was the situation with our regular Poole Wheelers session on the Saturday (every first and third Saturday of the month, 1-3pm). After trumpeting my slip-free lap of the track a week ago, there was some excitement and not a little careful checking of the weather forecast. Wednesday, Thursday and Friday were warm(ish) and sunny(ish) but hampered by overnight rain. IF it could stay warm(ish), dry and overcast overnight then we would be in business. <br />
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Doubt crept it the previous evening, with the temperature forecast showing below freezing overnight and 1-3 degrees through the morning. Sure enough, Graham checked the track at 9 to discover damp patches, then again at 11am to discover damp patches of almost the exact same size. It was a beautiful, sunny day but we were just plain not going to get a dry track today. With particular irony, the actual track was rideable - arguably gripper when damp than Newport is when bone dry - but the painted lines were lethal. And, with potentially large groups of riders and several of them being very small and light, the decision was made not to risk it.<br />
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Cue large numbers of sturm und drang text messages and posts on social network sights. As for me, I went about my business, wearing a track suit over my bike kit, plus buff and those Briko sun glasses that I got last week, rocking an altogether very 90's nu-metal look. No bad thing at that, the 90s was possibly the best decade ever for music - a fact that is in no way connected to how I was in my 20s for most of the decade. Anyway, judge for yourself:<br />
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So, after one of those accidental rest days that you tend to get in cycling, I rolled up at Calshot for the final round of the winter league. Calshot is indoors and I think has only twice been cancelled due to rain. This being the final round of the league, with prize giving afterwards, there was cake. Its amazing how many extra people will turn up when there is cake offered. For the first time this year, enough 'a' leaguers had turned up to run their events seperately. Stephen Bradbury - back from riding the Berlin 6 days - his Dad Trevor, Oli Hitchins and Bredan Drewett, all got the choice of riding on their own or with me, Rob Ellis, Chris Fletcher, Mark, Doug, Jim etc. For the first event, they rode with us and for us 'b' leaguers, it was all a case of hanging on by your fingernails for as long as possible. It was the usual deal - the race was 28 laps and for 20 I was in the thick of it. Then my legs started to seize up and I struggled home to claim third place in the 'b's, a lap down on some, a lap up on others.<br />
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(discalimer: if you aren't a geeky cycling nerd, you may want to skip this next paragraph)<br />
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As mentioned, Stephen had been racing the UIV cup at the Berlin 6 days. I was envious of this, not least because I've always wanted to visit Berlin. Never mind watching major international bike races/big German beer fest, I've just wanted to go to Berlin. The UIV cup is a part of the event for under 23 yr old riders, of which he is one. As he explained, being under 23, they were all on restricted gears - essentially, they were massively undergeared for a 250m track and he suffered accordingly. It was his partner that was letting him down, he said, but I have to save that EVERYBODY that I've EVER known do a madison has used this excuse. See M Cavendish Olympic Madison Beijing 2008. For Stephen, Calshot isa quick leg spinner before he heads back off to Belgium to race Kermis races through the summer.<br />
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As for the rest of us? Mark Moss, the comeback kid, got second overall in the 'b' league. He's also now got a job as a hospital porter which is great because it'll give him plenty of opportunities to meet his cycling buddies. Meanwhile, our tow hotshots: Becki and Eve completed their first season on the track. And on a fiendishly tricky little track at that. Both won some stuff. I forget what, exactly but lets just say, I am VERY excited about what these riders can accomplish in the forthcoming season.<br />
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All in all, things are looking up for 2013. We just have to get on that damn track some time.zoom gordohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08257405294034433922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3024861499175743586.post-67345077104399338412013-02-01T10:09:00.000-08:002013-02-01T10:10:41.379-08:00Fifty Shades Of SixDid I ever mention that six day racing is freaking awesome? <br />
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Here's the roundup of those lucky so-and-sos who've got to see one this winter:<br />
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Here's <a href="http://zoom-gordo.blogspot.co.uk/?view=flipcard#!/2013/01/on-sidelines-of-history.html"> Calshot regular Stephen Bradbury</a>, who was riding the UIV (under 23's) Six Day at Amsterdam:<br />
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<a href="http://trackcycling.me.uk/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=577:six-day-experiences&catid=2:reports&Itemid=9">http://trackcycling.me.uk/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=577:six-day-experiences&catid=2:reports&Itemid=9</a><br />
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And here's Trackcycling.me.uk chief Guy Swarbrick on the Berlin Six Days: <br />
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<a href="http://trackcycling.me.uk/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=571:six-and-the-city&catid=2:reports&Itemid=9">http://trackcycling.me.uk/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=571:six-and-the-city&catid=2:reports&Itemid=9</a><br />
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And, last but not least, here's Velo Veritas on the same race: <br />
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<a href="http://www.veloveritas.co.uk/2013/01/30/berlin-six-day-2013-roundup/">http://www.veloveritas.co.uk/2013/01/30/berlin-six-day-2013-roundup/</a>zoom gordohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08257405294034433922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3024861499175743586.post-9585613741788512182013-01-30T08:33:00.001-08:002013-01-30T08:33:34.233-08:00The Chump ParadoxClaims that I've been trying my damndest to avoid all mention of lance Armstrong for the last 9 years seen unfounded on this evidence. However, here he is covering a song by the pop group 'Radiohead'.
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Meanwhile, in the world of bike racing, the Berlin 6 day race was held in Berlin, much as you'd expect. This is the finale of the something or other race. Probably. But can you spot <a href="http://trackcycling.me.uk/">Trackcycling's</a> Guy Swarbrick?<br />
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This is the stayers race, behind big motorbikes around a 250m track. Don't ask why, why is irrelevant. This wonderful sport will be coming to Bournemouth this year, thanks to Gerry Gray.<br />
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The keirin...<br />
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And, finally, here's a girl playing darts while trackstanding. Yeah, beat that triathalon.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/82RdiYXsz4o" width="560"></iframe><br />zoom gordohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08257405294034433922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3024861499175743586.post-10927280320083775182013-01-28T02:22:00.001-08:002013-01-28T02:22:38.979-08:00Marginal GroansAnd, so we all emerged, blinking, into the sun like hibernating creatures. The snows melted and we all got back on our bikes, many of us - not just me I assure you - suffering like dogs from sitting on our backsides for much of the previous week.<br />
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The actual snow actually buggered off sometime on Tuesday night. Rain throughout the day turned to sleet and then snow so that, at bedtime, the ground was covered again in a thick layer of fresh snow. And, being thoroughly fed up with snow at this point, I was absolutely delighted to wake up Wednesday to clear roads again. Warm - and, by warm I mean 3c - weather slowly delt with the remaining slush over the next few days and once again, I hauled my bicycle out and went for a ride. <br />
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Come Saturday and we were all piling into Mrs Zoom's teeny little car and heading across country to buy cycling things. By 'we', I mean myself, Mrs Zoom and our 2 dogs Yoda and Maeve (more on her later) and by 'across country', I mean the Brighton Mitre CC cycle jumble at Steyning. This is is rural Sussex not far from where Mrs Zoom originates from and has become something of an annual pilgrimage for us. I was out looking for cheap cycling kit while Mrs Zoom was intent on taking the dogs up to Chanctonbury rings, an old hill fort nearby. This we did and, as we were walking round the footpath running around the bottom of the hill, trying to find the path that took us to the top of the hill, Maeve decided to wander off on her own.<br />
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She is a lurcher/saluki cross, or in other words a long, skinny running-type dog who had been keeping us in sight on her various adventures. Then, as we found the path leading to the top of the hill and tried calling her back, she was no where to be seen. She had in fact wandered off piste and was by now half way back to the house next to the car park, with its half a dozen small flurry dogs. She was merrily engaged in a barking contest with these when I eventually found her. I told her off and slung in the car. Then the rest of us piled in and we went home. Big walk cancelled, Christmas ruined for all the little children.<br />
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The upshot of all this was that we got home earlier than expected. I had done rather well at the cycle jumble. To go a bit tech for a minute, I was after a pair of 'ergo' bars for my track bike. These are a sort of 'pistol grip' shape and arrived in the mid 90s. They're on pretty much all modern bikes, however I have a track bike from the early 90s, which needs the old fashioned 'quill' stem and so, I was after a pair of 'ergo' bars that would fit one of my many existing quill stems or, even better a handlebar and stem combo. These I found, plus a pair of 90s Briko sunglasses that made me look like either that bloke in The Chemical Brothers or East German sprint legend Jens Fiedler. <br />
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Either way, good. And, incidentally, in the above picture Jens Fiedler is using 'sprint' bars, not ergo. Ergo is for 'endurance' which, in track racing, is any race lasting longer than a minute. <br />
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There were many of these at the latest round of the Calshot Winter League, that I arrived to five minutes late on Sunday. Now, if I could briefly lecture the little children again, there are some things that you do NOT do in cycling and one of them is, you do NOT change a load of stuff on your bike and then imediately go and race it. You should at the very least have a quick test before hand to check that it's all good. What you should not do is completely change your handlebar set up, put new cleats on your shoes and wear your totally retro 90s Briko sunglasses and then arrive for the race 5 minutes late and go straight into the sprint qualifiers. If you didn't do anything up tightly enough, then the sprint qualifiers is not a good time to find this out.<br />
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It seems that I got away with it though and, in my defence, my housemate was watching the DVD of the new Judge Dredd movie. This had me occupied most of the morning and it was only when I was driving to the track when I realised that normally I'd be arriving at about this time. Essentially, I was an hour out. Oops. That, plus the fact that I'd barely ridden in a week and a half did not a storming performance make. Added to that, although Stephen Bradbury was busy racing 'Das Zukunftsrennen' or <a href="http://www.berlinsixdays-u23.de/Start_Up.html">the Under 23 part of the Berlin Six Days,</a> Max Steadman had turned up to keep the tide high in the talent pool. Max is national juniour madison champion and was plenty quick enough back when he was 14 and has not got any slower since. For some reason, the final 'distance' race was run over 50 laps, a whopping seven kilometres, which is a long way if you're trying to keep up with the likes of him. There was every possibility that you could finish 35 laps down, like people do in six day races and so I hung on to him, plus Oli (racing with an 'enlarged sheath' on his metatarsal, which is apparently a bad thing) and a few others for a good 20 of those 50 laps. But when your legs seize up and there's still 25 laps to go - which is when most races at Calshot start - and you're already 2 laps down, then maybe it's time to pack.<br />
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As it was, it was up to Mark Moss and Becki Raybould to uphold club honour, with wins apiece in the sprint and handicap. As for my fancy ergo bars? Well, to quote Dave Brailsford, its all about marginal gains and their very definate gain was marginal compared to my lack of fitness.<br />
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Final week next week. Then we all get out in the fresh air.
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<br />zoom gordohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08257405294034433922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3024861499175743586.post-82019385856655229152013-01-24T08:09:00.003-08:002013-01-24T08:09:43.067-08:00Apologies for the swearing in this. Actually, apologies for even the mention of Lance Armstrong. I've been trying to avoid all mention of the guy for about 8 years now. This is quite funny, though.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/1SUKZD6eqgo" width="560"></iframe><br />zoom gordohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08257405294034433922noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3024861499175743586.post-82375377214773567672013-01-23T07:25:00.001-08:002013-01-23T07:25:47.027-08:00Pretty Pictures Of SnowIts been a bit chilly of late. I haven't been out on my bike in a week. Like everybody else, I've been out taking pictures.
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<br />zoom gordohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08257405294034433922noreply@blogger.com0