Courtesy of Novemberfive, who has a new smart looking folding bike. Check it out here.
In John’s Workshop
As it was sheeting down with rain all day, and I was working right up to the bell, John and I decided to postpone the Wednesday Ride and possibly make it a Thursday Ride instead. That did not stop us getting all bikey though, by eight forty-five in the evening I was in John’s workshop with some of the parts of the shopper bike. The frame and forks with stem and headset attched, and the rim, hub and spokes for the back wheel. John looked down at the Sturmey Archer hub I had just handed him and happily explained that it was assembled in August of 1984. He showed me the 84 8 stamp on the metal and said it was made in England, they stopped stamping the dates when the manufacturing was moved overseas.
John’s first job was stripping down, cleaning and rebuilding secondhand bikes that had been brought in for part exchange at a bike shop. He learned about classic hubs like the Sturmey – many modern bike mechanics in a shop would rather you bought a new hub that have to open up a Sturmey, but not John, he has an appreciation of good engineering. John got the stem off with a combination of brute force, a metalworker’s vice, GT85 and a big hammer covered in a rag. Then he made me laugh, he kept saying, “well I’m not going to take off the bottom bracket tonight”, then proceeded to do so, then “I won’t take off the cups on the headset” just before doing just that. We surmised about doing up old bikes and reselling them and I brought Coco’s Variety Store to his attention. This fantastic shop, owned by the legendary Mr. Jalopy is a model of recycled cycling, with bikes rebuilt from scrap with parts from other reclaimed bikes.
With the last bits of the bike in pieces, much chat and a cup of tea later, we decided to call it a night. Phase two of the shopper rebuild is now in operation – parts cleaning and repaint. John has the back wheel to build and I now have a lot of greasy bearings and oily bits of metal to clean up. then comes the repaint, and finally the all important reassembly.
The only problem is, I now have to go to London for a client meeting with ingrained oil on my hands tomorow.
Eat More Chips – Deeper into the Wylye
After a hard day’s graft at the coalface/keyboard, I managed to get out for an evening ride. It had been a pretty dreary day weatherwise, but as I hurtled towards Warminster the sun was coming out, having dipped down below the cloud line, a golden orb regally bestowing it’s glory upon the A36. Still, there was the threat of rain in the air as I trundled up Black Dog Hill. I paused in the car park of the Little Chef just outside Warminster to sort out the lights, lorry drivers were getting ready to bed down for the night, staring out from their cabins as I wove the bike in between the wheeled leviathans. Evening radio poured out from the opened windows, mingling with the smell of strong coffee. Then, oh joy, I finally got the chance to take a picture of a lorry that I have seen rolling up and down these roads for a good few months, but have never managed to get the camera out in time. But there it was, sitting ready for me to take a pic of the legend branded on its flank.
“Eat More Chips”
Oft have I spoken of this splendid vehicle, and oft have people exclaimed that I am making it up. But here and now I present proof that the Eat More Chips lorry is real.
In great spirits I continued on through Warminster town center and out the other side. I crossed the Wylye and went through Bishopstrow and Sutton Veny. This time I headed for Corton. These roads are splendid, country lanes, but wide, very wide. I think this must be because there is a quarry or something here abouts and the lorries need to get into it. As I came out of Tytherington (after admiring the village’s ancient church as I rode past) I broke free of a tunnel of trees lining a hill, and there was the Wylye Valley unfolded ahead of me. It was glorious, a fairweather English Eden stretching out before me as far as the eye could see. Not only was the road smooth and beautifully wide, it was near devoid of traffic so I took my hands off the brakes and allowed the benign road to carry me down to the next village, Corton. In a field to the left a small heard of Llamas stood and watched me pedal past. The shadows were lengthening rapidly, the sun had dulled to a brass colour, veiled by inky clouds on the horizon. I pushed on a little further until the computer gave me fifteen miles, then I reluctantly turned back and headed the way I had come. It was hard pedaling all the way back, for the dusk was hard on my back and the sharp chap chap of a blackbird alarm call told me that the witching hour was about to begin. Often this is my favourite time to ride, the air is cool and fresh, sound is exaggerated and enhanced, fewer cars on the road – all of them able to see my tron-like reflective gear so they give me a wide berth. In the gathering darkness, it seems that hills are easier and the miles go quicker. There is also the chance that I might see an owl, a badger or a hare.
I arrived back at the house with no wildlife spotted, but 31 miles clocked up for the evening’s ride.
We dwell in a kingdom of rains
As is now standard procedure for the British Summer, it’s been belting down with rain over the bank holiday. Monday itself saw an astonishing downpour that lasted well into the afternoon and filled all four of my garden waterbutts to overflowing in the space of a couple of hours. It was the ’straight down’ variety of rain that I don’t mind cycling in, however, no chance of a ride as I was looking after the anklebiters and also – need some rain gear.
Now I have looked at jackets and whatnot – I can’t really afford to be laying out for the type of technical doodads that one needs on a waterproof when cycling. Even when I’m pootling I’m averaging about 13-14mph and I get pretty warm, I would need one of those wicking fabrics. The colours seem to be quite garish and there’s a lot of logos and fancy styling around. I’m all for fancy styling and brand names etc, I think that’s fair enough for those who want to be associated with The Discovery Channel team, or if you don’t mind having ‘Chris Boardman’ on your helmet when you’re wheezing up a hill at 8mph. To me it would make no sense to wear something that advertises that which I am not. That’s why I have bidons with Rivendell Bicycle Works‘ logo and a no-name top and shorts. I am not really an aspirational rider in that sense. I am willing to pay good money for something that is well crafted and will last (a Brooks saddle for example) but not to have a whacking great logo splattered over me. I chose my Lemond etape bike for a few reasons:
- It was at the top of my price range
- It looked well made and had good reviews
- It had a triple chainring and I’m a weed on hills
- It looked elegant and nicely styled, particularly the typography and colours
- Greg Lemond is a great rider – but it says ‘Lemond’ not ‘Greg Lemond’
- Lemond looks French – which for some reason looks really good on a road bike
Above all that, it was the only bike in the shop that didn’t assault my eyes with garish blocky logos and hyperactive colours.
I guess that makes me a bit shallow, but anyway with that in mind I have decided that my wet weather gear will be this:
As it drapes over the handlebars and attaches to the rider’s thumbs, the ventilation is second to none. It’s bright yellow, bloody cheap and crucially, it has a matching sou’wester!
Into the Valley of The Wylye
Many years ago, while I worked for Ottakar’s books, all the staff took part in a company wide effort to raise money for the children of Deogarh in India. One of things I did was a sixty mile cycle ride to our head office in Salisbury from Trowbridge, and back again. Considering how unfit I was at the time, it was an epic undertaking. John (who I still ride with on the Wednesday rides) was our guide, taking us into Salisbury via the beautiful Wylye Valley, rather than the hell that would have been the A36. At the top of this post you can see the front and rear of the T-shirt I made for the ride. I made one for everyone with the rider’s name on the back and their number, 1-4 on the front and sleeve. Below are some more pics from the ride.
On Saturday I took a ride out from the village and ended up retracing some of the route we took on the sponsored cycle ride. We had been promised foul weather, but although it was very gusty, there was no rain in the air. I headed for Dilton Marsh, then took the road up The Hollow. This was the steep hill that saw one member of the group simply exclaim “Oh F*** off!” and dismounting to walk up as soon as he saw the gradient. I remember cycling up behind John, but being unable to breathe at the top as we waited for the other two to walk it. This time I took it with ease, crossed over the road and headed for Upton Scudamore. On the way I passed the layby and bridge where in April I had seen a seriously filthy amount of flytipped rubbish. I’m happy to say that someone has tidied it up. here’s a before and after for you:
Through Upton and over the main road to another ghost road. A fragmented old stretch of tarmac overgrown and crow-haunted, it deposited me almost by the Warminster sign, next to a crab apple tree by the side of the road. The back roads of Warminster saw me wondering if I was taking the right route. It seemed to me that in retrospect, the sponsored riders appeared to have stopped off at every grocery shop on the way. I crossed Imber Road and sped down long stretches of tarmac dotted with speed bumps, still not 100% sure of where I was going, sat up in the saddle with one hand on the handlebars I drifted towards Bishopstrow with the vague recollection that we had at some point crossed the A36 via a bridge. The only way that could have happened was if we had gone over the Warminster bypass. So I headed that way, tacking my back a little like a sail to allow the tail wind to push me through Bishopstrow village and, yes, over the A36. There was little traffic on the road and I crossed the bubbling Wylye river in peace. Here on the backroads I simply turned the cranks and enjoyed bicycling, cow parsley brushed my shins as I rode close to the verge. A myriad range of birds, swallows, buntings, finches and sparrows, dipped and sped across the road at head height. Sometimes they stalled into the wind, flapping wildly but unable to make headway as the gusts rose and fell. Across the tall grass in the field, the wind blew in eddies and currents; where the evening sun struck the seedheads the ripples of light moved over the surface of the field, tracking the path of the zephyrs like waves on water.
Rather like when fishing, cycling connects you intimately to the movements of the breeze. On the banks of a pool or lake, with the bait in the water, you notice that the wind rarely moves in one direction. You will see your float drift one way, then another. After a while you learn the subtle changes that signal a change of wind direction. So it is on the bike, the wind is moving around you all the time, a gust will almost stop you in your tracks, but then as it dies it creates a sort of patch of pressure where the wind seems to be sucked back the other way, suddenly driving you forwards. On such days it can feel as though you are being pushed and pulled along, you can ride on the drops when the wind is against you, but sit up tall to take advantage of a sudden tailwind. When the sun is out, it can be quite enjoyable, so much more than sheer, baking heat and still air.
At Sutton Veny I decided I had gone far enough and turned towards the Warminster bypass roundabout. It was a brief ride into the wind, then left, leaving the wind mainly on my right. By the time I got to the lead up to the crest of Black Dog Hill, I was glad of the lorries and using them to draft up the gradient. I arrived back at the house having notched up twenty six miles. Leaving me only twenty to thirty miles in order to rack up 1000 miles on the Lemond Etape since Feb 2007.
Mutha Uckas on bikes
I have to admit, I’ve lost fitness. John was thrashing me on the hills yesterday and today I just felt tired. Couple the tiredness with a really hard day, involving edge of desperation learning on the job style ohmygodthismustbedonebycloseofplaytonight and Idon’tknowhowtodoit style action, and one has the recipe for a day from hell. rarely do I feel so close to The Bonk when I’m not on the bike. However, it all came good by the evening, mission accomplished workwise and hey, I found this on You Tube, it summed up my day, too many mutha uckas ucking with my shi’ - and it has bikes so I can post it here:
Both my wife and I had particular trouble with aching sides and difficulty breathing due to laughter, particularly when it gets to the dropped out words in the last verse… Granny Smith… Mango…
Wednesday Ride II – Et in Arcadia ego
John arrived outside the house with the sound of toe clips dragging through chippings and the sharp hiss of rubber finding purchase on tarmac. He never can resist getting up speed on even the smallest downhill gradient. I had just been wiping the mud off the bike and relubing the chain. We had a brief chat about wheels for the shopper, he reckons the rims can be salvaged. As long as I can work out the spoke length of the back wheel, and we can source the spokes, he will attempt a wheel build, which is very good of him.
On with the ride. John had it in his mind that he wished to cycle up a shade dappled hill with little traffic to make the most of the sun. Often John is a man after my own heart, yes he likes a hard ride and to push himself a bit, but often the simple pleasure of riding through tree shadow on a hazy summer evening is enough for him. I thought the idea sounded excellent so we set off on our quest. John knew of a road that could possibly provide what he needed – although it was a good ten or so miles away. With the time at six fifteen in the evening, commuters were still heading home, the traffic was too fast and angry, not liking two cyclists being on their road. We got a few beeps as people got too close too quickly, then thought it would be easier to honk us into the verge rather than actually slow down and wait until the opposite lane was clear enough for them to overtake. It was a relief to get off the Frome bypass and head towards the forest roads. The trial part of the quest was not yet over though. We were in a headwind on a road surface that seemed to suck the life from our legs. We hammered on and upwards, the road was straight and although the going was hard we were in good spirits.
We took a left and then suddenly, we were in arcadia – the road was quiet and drifted upwards into the treeline. The evening sun was stretched out richly across the ploughed fields behind us, and then we were riding through a tunnel of trees. The tarmac was a patchwork of leaf-shadow and brilliant sunlight. John was out of the saddle, and going well, when suddenly ‘ping’ a spoke went on his back wheel and it started to buckle. We found a flat bit half way up the hill and John upended the bike and got busy with the spoke key. It gave me an opportunity to catch my breath and look back at the route we had traveled. The sun was lowering and a gentle haze flooded the horizon, distant hills faded into blue, swallows and swifts danced and called to each other as they dined on the feast of insects bourne up by the evening’s warmth. The long deep drone of a distant tractor drifted languidly up over the hedges and hollows, the scent of wild garlic mingled with the rich scent of freshly ploughed warm earth from the fields. A perfect English summer evening in the countryside.
With the spokes repaired we continued up the hill, through an impossibly picturesque village, the pub was tempting, but we resisted. Then more hills – it was becoming clear that John is now considerably fitter than I am, he led easily. Then past Longleat, a swift diversion into the little track that runs parallel to the road – exciting at 20 mph on a road bike. Then we headed to Chapmanslade, down The Hollow into Dilton and parted company at Brokerswood, by the time I freewheeled into the village I had completed 24 miles.
An excellent ride and to me, exactly what cycling is all about.
In Praise of Old Tools
I’m sitting outside, typing on the laptop, waiting for John to arrive, we’re going on the Wednesday ride, at the moment it looks like a trundle round the Frome bypass then up a stupidly big hill under the forest, sounds interesting, and more on that later.
As I’ve started restoring this old shopper, it’s given me a good excuse to have an overview of my tools. A workshop is a fine thing to have access to, it allows you a place for your tools, and of course, the space to actually own some. I think it’s a shame that many of my friends have less than the bare minimum of tools in their houses. The attitude these days is that if something’s broke, buy another. I remember my wife’s Uncle Roger telling me how his grandfather, a ship builder lavished incredible care on his tools, and never recovered from having a portion of them stolen. Although I have bought a fair few tools brand new, I tend to pick up other ones as donations, or from shops like Penny Farthing Tools in Salisbury. Penny Farthing is a terrific store, essentially it seems to be in an old garage, but it is packed, absolutely packed with amazing tools. Some are specialist or collector’s items, but alongside all that you will find a box of spanners where everything is 50 pence, or an old oil can for a couple of quid. I absolutely cannot leave without spending some money – often only two pound fifty or so, but coming away with a nice tool, such as a well used spanner, or a wire brush drill attachment – or even as I did once, a German Engineer’s folding ruler that folds out to two meters.
I am reaching the stage now where when I need a tool for something, I actually have it in the workshop, I recall the days when I would be having to take a trip to the hardware store for a new screwdriver or wire cutter. At the moment though, I own very few bike tools beyond tyre levers, chainbreakers (2) box spanners and bike size hex keys. I could also do with a magnetic tray to hold small parts.
Luckily for my bank balance, Penny Farthing’s only bike tool was an old fashioned bike spanner. Well, it was their only bike tool, until I bought it.
Sturmey Joy
Work continues on the recycled shopper. I finished work today at 23:00 and I’ve just spent forty five minutes taking the bike apart. I had to drill out two of the bolts holding the mudguards on, but thankfully not the cotter pins as I did on my Alpine 10. The seat post was surprisingly not rusted in and came out fairly easily, bright, unmarked chrome emerging from the downtube. I was hoping to get away with not taking the forks off, but it’s readily apparent that the bearings are crumbling away – a horrible grating feeling attends each twist of the headset. I shall have to borrow a headset spanner off someone. The handlebars came off with reasonable ease, as did the grips (with a bit of pulling). Finally I unpinged the remaining spokes of the rear wheel and released the Sturmey Archer three speed hub.
Ah the Sturmey Archer- a masterpiece. Beneath the caked on grime, the metal was bright and shiny, unmarked by rust. The gearing seems unaffected by the neglect the bike has suffered, so hopefully, with a little servicing, the hub will be good for a long while yet. Here for your entertainment is an exploded diagram of a 3 speed Sturmey that I have scanned in from the legendary Soames Bicycle Maintenance Manual.
Recycle Cycle
I was at an un-named recycling centre (nee ‘tip’ or ‘dump’ as they used to be known) last week, when I spotted a rusted shopper – a Halfords own brand knock off of the folding Raleigh R20. I knelt down to snap a few photos on the ol’ camera phone, next thing I know a florescent jacketed workman is helping me to load it into the back of the car. The location will remain nameless as apparently one is not supposed to take stuff away from the recycling centre once it’s there. This to me seems like utter nonsense – In order I think the mantra goes something like ‘reduce, repair, reuse, recycle’ – with recycling at the end of the line. I’m sure there are very good reasons why operatives are not allowed to let people have things from the centre, but surely people taking stuff away is going to firstly make their job easier, and secondly it will put less pressure on landfill etc. Anyway – good on the team of bleeeep recycling centre for giving the bike to me.
It folded up nicely to fit into the car. On arrival at home I got it out of the boot and gave it a good look.
- Wheels – 3 speed SA rear hub – still functioning smoothly – badly buckled – both rims steel and shot through with rust – verdict – rebuild wheels (actually get someone else to rebuild wheels would be more accurate).
- Brakes – nothing a bit of WD40 won’t cure – no terminal rusting – blocks fine.
- Cables – shot – verdict – will need replacing – white housing.
- Tyres – front is original whitewall – shot into oblivion – tube stuck to it. Rear has been replaced at somepoint, but is heavily cracked – surprisingly the tubes are holding air fine – verdict – new tyres – (sourced through ebay)
- Frame – minor rust on bottom of rear triangle where paint has scratched – verdict – treat rust – respray blue and white.
- Seatpost and saddle – Saddle needs a cover and some cleaning, seatpost could do with being replaced or at least sanded off and painted.
- Handlebars/levers/grips – handlebars will need sanding off and painting – levers are fine as are white plastic grips.
- Bottom Bracket/chainring/chain/cranks/pedals – all good apart from the chain. Verdict – cleaned up well except for the chain which is to be chucked.
- Stand/bell/lamp – all dead and removed.
- Mudguards – very rusty – verdict – take off sand down and repaint – if they hold together that is.
This could be a fun project. I’ll try and do it as cheaply and quickly as possible. I think there is potential to make this into a very characterful and fun bike, saving it from being scrapped and hopefully give it a new lease of life. I’ll post regular updates and let you know how it’s going.
