more news from nowhere

Move it on over...

2009-09-16T12:40:00.002+12:00

After nearly four years of blogging on Blogger, I'm moving this over to Wordpress. I've been using it on Velominati and SPOKE, and like the look and usability of it better.

So from now, both of my readers should bookmark brettok.wordpress.com

It might take a while for me to get it up to speed.

This blog will still be archived here and linked from the new one.

Cheers.

The Tracer

2009-09-13T18:30:00.004+12:00

K-Man now has his new Tracer built up with a slew of new bits, after initially swapping the older stuff from his 5.5. So it's full XTR, Stans ZTR Arch rims on DT 240S hubs, Thomson stem and post and Fox Talas fork. Sweet. And it comes in under 27lbs... that's gotta keep him happy. Looks hot, K-Man!

It'd probably be a heap of fun to ride on these trails.

We (Mikey, Josh, Josh Junior and myself) got out for a pre-run of next weeks PNP race at Wainuiomata, there's some real fun singletrack out there. Check out Caleb's new helmet-cam footage of Spoon Hill, and other cool stuff including Makara and a downtube's eye view of a Fox fork in action here.

Brilliant...

2009-09-08T22:21:00.004+12:00

No need to say anything, just watch and enjoy.

Hey!

2009-09-07T21:36:00.004+12:00

This monkey's gone to heaven... They may be older and fatter, but Frank and Kim's voices still make every hair on my body stand up. Can't wait (20 years is long enough).

Mmmmblog

2009-09-07T18:10:00.004+12:00

Food (and beer) fuels cyclists, and I love both. One of my cohorts over at Velominati, Jim, has a wife. This is not extraordinary, but what is cool about his wife (Jess) is that she is a well-respected food writer in Seattle. And she has a blog. It is full of really delicious-looking recipes, and some good writing to go along with it. Gotta try those banana pancakes...

They're racing...

2009-08-31T10:50:00.006+12:00

But I'm not. On Yer Bike was well represented by everyone except me on Sunday, with great results at the Makara PNP race, and Mikey (5th in class) up in Vegas at the N-Duro 50k'er.

I ummed and ahhed in the morning whether or not I'd have a crack, and went with "ah f#ck it". Shoulda gone with "umm yeah why not", as the boys and girls put in top rides, and it looked like a lot of (painful) fun.

Josh (here in 4th) got past Angry Clive (yellow) and followed in Jonty (black) for 3rd place in a classy M1 field. Why are they on the road? The race starts down at Karori School, and sorts the field out with a km of tar climbing before they hit the singletrack.

Ratas smashed the old guys for a win in M2, making me wonder how I would've fared. Probably not as well as him. He dedicated the win to his father, who has been ill. All class Karl, love ya work mate.

Marj keeps going from strength to strength too, picking up 3rd in Senior women behind two of NZ's best XC racers, and beating some other 'hotshots' too. She gave props to me and Josh on the podium for 'tuning her bike', which translates to 'forcing her to put expensive parts on it.'

Josh rails one of the last corners on Starfish on his "fast but harsh" hardtail Stumpy.

Simon from our Paraparaumu store was rocking his sweet singlespeed Stumpy 29er, have a closer look at it over at SSSS. Apparently he had a big off down Ridgeline when his front tyre blew off the rim. Luckily, the bike wasn't hurt.

The Government is up to no good...

2009-08-25T22:52:00.000+12:00

Bruyneel is a Nazi bit of work...

2009-08-18T22:34:00.000+12:00

Hello kitty

2009-08-16T00:16:00.001+12:00

6AM Soundtrack

2009-08-13T08:26:00.002+12:00

This is what was in my head on this mornings ride... truly old school.

So when I got home I palped this...

Talk about an intense breakfast!

All kinds of wrong

2009-07-30T01:17:00.009+12:00

Sometimes you just have to do things that you just aren't comfortable with, in order to satisfy a greater need. I need to ride bikes.

When I returned to Australia last month for my annual catch-up, I decided not to be burdened with lugging a box around airports and train stations at all hours of the night. After all, my network of friends own between them enough mountain and road steeds to start up their own retail outlets from their garages (and loungerooms in some cases).

Mountain bikes were easy to come by, and while they may have been Mongooses (thanks Mick and Youngy), they provided good times. The road bike choices were even more limited. But after busting a rib in the first week, I needed the low-impact, easy-spin option of the blacktop, and the only thing I could do was something I'm not proud of; I rode a Giant.

But not just any Giant, oh no. I rode 'The (road) Parts'. What the hell am I talking about, I hear you ask.

Years ago Col was looking for a new MTB, and he chose a Giant NRS over a Specialized Epic on the strength of the parts spec, rather than how the bikes rode. It became known as 'The Parts'. Then when he adorned his TCR road bike with full Dura Ace and Ksyriums, the logical moniker for it was obvious. Now Col doesn't like to throw old crap out, hence these two bikes, along with a selection of other museum pieces, still inhabit the mess he calls his garage.

So when I needed a road ride, I had to swallow my pride and ride The (road) Parts. But no more DA on this puppy, Col had seen the light a few years ago and got on board a Tarmac SL (and finally an Epic for the dirt) and some old Ultegra 9 speed was taped to the TCR. Col doesn't attach, bolt or fit things to his bikes, he tapes them, zip-ties them and binds them with bits of string and wool. (What's more, he's a doctor, so god only knows how he fixes his patients.) I was just glad to be riding, even if I was wearing his old shoes (a size too big) and my MTB helmet and gloves.

The pump rattled like a bitch, and after 100 metres I was stopping to look for a flat rear tyre. Col assured me the "thunk, thunk, thunk" was just the big bulging lump of rubber he'd used to repair a cut in the tyre's casing. 50km of "thunk, thunk, thunk" and a rattling pump is one of the methods of torture used in Guantanomo Bay, I'm sure.

But the bike fit me more or less, it was a nice sunny day, I was with a good mate, and all those things helped to erase the shame I momentarily felt. Cheers Col, adios Parts.

Weight a minute...

2009-07-29T22:10:00.006+12:00

How can this (size Large, 8.2 kg)

be heavier than this (size Large, 7.7 kg)?

Someone needs to go on a diet, and it ain't the Roubaix...

Swap Meet

2009-07-24T17:37:00.008+12:00

Here's a look at the frame swap of K-Man's 5.5 to the new Tracer.
From this...

To this...

This is a long way from over. K-Man is going to pimp this thing to within an inch of bankruptcy. Thomson stem and Masterpiece post are already palped, along with a Gobi XM saddle. Next up, new wheels, fork and XX gruppo. Prepare to wipe the drool.

First and last

2009-07-21T18:18:00.004+12:00

Before I managed to put myself out of action in the first week of my holiday, me and the Kman took a trip out to Awaba to ride the new (to me) trails that have been built by the local club. It would be the last ride for Kedan's Intense 5.5, as his new Tracer frame was waiting in the wings. More on that soon. The Awaba trails are nestled at the foot of the Watagan Mountains, and it's a fair hike to get out there. Not what I had in mind when I envisiged 'Awaba'. I was hoping it was worth it. It was. The trails are cool. 100% singletrack, twisty, up and down, and more fun the faster you ride them. There's only about 6km of track built so far, but there's a lot of potential there for a cool network to sprout. It's just a pity it's so bloody far to drive to, and hopefully the scourge of motocross bikes doesn't get wind of the place and start digging trenches a la Killy. Check out this cool footage from Dan, notorious metalhead SS'er.

Finishing touches

2009-07-14T13:25:00.002+12:00

The Resurrection Part 1 is now in the books as done and dusted. The old man's old Speedwell is looking probably better than it's original incarnation, all red and chrome and leather. I had a hand in its transformation, getting to wrap the Brooks leather bar tape and punch in the cool cork/wood bar-end caps. Now its onto the BSA track bike and a folding Peugeot 20".

Free(mo)ride

2009-07-10T19:54:00.004+12:00

It's funny how when you are away from your home-town for a long time, that everyone wants to catch up with you when you return. It's not a bad thing, but when you are on limited time, it's hard to squeeze in a ride/beer/chat with all and sundry. But I try. Today was the turn of Freemo, Australia's lankiest Nick Cave-impersonating mountain biking drummer. I'm sure he's had a growth spurt, or maybe I'm shrinking; that happens as you get older, doesn't it? We met up at Glenrock, and both made it clear to each other that under normal circumstances we wouldn't be riding after the overnight rain we had. But time's of the essence, right? Freemo unloaded his singlespeed from some sort of pre-mid-life crisis sports-type car (well, a Honda) and I knew I'd be in for some pain. Luckily he's been only back on the bike for a few weeks, but I was still in for some pain. Crash-induced pain, as it turned out. I hooked my bars on some Bitou Bush at the top of Bus Stop, launching me over the front before being crushed by the cartwheeling heft of the Mongoose coming over the top. Feels like I've cracked a rib, but Freemo's expert analysis was that I haven't. Still managed to get a good ride in though, slippin and slidin around the 'rock for a couple of hours. Thanks Freemo, next week I'll even it up (I'll ride my SS, you break a rib).

Joining the Velominati

2009-07-09T11:40:00.004+12:00

Getting bored with this blog? I am. I'll be posting from time to time in a new blog called Velominati, which is the baby of an American Dutchman named Frank, and which I've been given the opportunity to use as a sounding board too. Hopefully I can add something to it, I've been enjoying Frank's writing so far. Also trying to get the ball rolling over at SPOKE too, so I could be glued to my computer and tv even more than usual. Old square eyes is back.

Mon Ganso

2009-07-08T18:57:00.005+12:00

Mongoose. The name conjurs different things to different people. BMX rats love them, MTBers have always been a bit leery. I was always in the latter camp, being unimpressed by their bikes for the last few years. Last visit I rode a Canaan Team, and was somewhat underwhelmed. So when K-man offered me the use of a Teocali Super, I was a little apprehensive to take it up; but as there was only a singlespeed as the other option, and with my fitness below par, I was soon loading it into the old Peugeot. In rather than on, as the 15QR fork was incompatible with my roof racks. Before I'd even wheeled it out of the shop, I managed to snap off the remote lever for the adjustabe seatpost. The Mongoose quality had me wondering if It'd make it back to the shop in one piece. But once I got it into Glenrock, all my pre-conceptions were quickly dispelled. This is a good bike. I had a blast, railing through the newly bermed corners on BJ's Surprise, dropping over ledges and roots, and it even climbed up Log On/Log Off fairly well, except for the tall fork wanting to reach for the sky a bit. I noticed the extra heft over my Stumpy on the climbs, but other than that, it's a bike that I'd be happy to own, if only it wasn't so ugly. Thanks to Mick at Gateshead Cycles for the loan, I'll get it back to you eventually, as soon as I clean it (and the after-ride glow wears off.)

The implosion is imminent

2009-07-07T11:36:00.002+12:00

Bend over Alberto, this could hurt... No wonder he's pissed.

Hardman

2009-07-06T21:46:00.002+12:00

Breaking your hip and still finishing only 7 seconds behind Nico.... nuts. The Downieville defence is on...

The full mounty

2009-07-03T12:55:00.005+12:00

Heads up from Caleb, who linked the Specialized 2010 media pack from Singletrack to SPOKE.

Just when you thought it couldn't get any better...

2009-06-30T18:18:00.003+12:00

...the big S brings out a new, better, lighter, longer travel Stumpy. 140mm front and rear, and 22 pounds! I know what my next bike will be.... full story here and here...
There's also big changes to the Enduro as well, this thing is a beast at only 27lb. This would be a great bike for Caleb and the K-Man.
And there's a new Epic 29er, but everyone knows 29ers suck.

Ned

2009-06-29T23:58:00.004+12:00

Ok, so it's a Specialized ad, but it's Ned. On a Stumpy. And that trail looks cool too.

Gives hope to all 40-something-vegetarian-ex-punk-rockers

2009-06-28T10:44:00.009+12:00

This is John Joseph, vocalist for seminal NY punk band the Cro-Mags.

The Darkness

2009-06-27T20:52:00.007+12:00

It's descended on Josh. He'd been murmuring about getting a hardtail for months, throwing up pros and cons on a daily basis, before deciding to stick with the squish. I knew it wouldn't last; after all, he'd had the Turner for a year, which in itself is some kind of record. Then a couple of weeks ago I walked into work to see a stripped Flux in the stand. "Where is it?" I knew what was going down. And here it is. 10kg of carbon goodness, all dressed up with no race to go to. Pure stealth. Black as the ace of spades. Someone called it the Grim Reaper. The Turner took it's place in the shop, looking for a new home. After one ride on The Darkness, the Turner wasn't going anywhere. For some reason that has bemused all who sight it, Queer Eye For The Straight Guy were enlisted for the makeover, and pink cables were palped, making it a bike only Josh could love. Until today. It's back on TradeMe, but where's The Darkness?

Dirt/road

2009-06-17T20:27:00.003+12:00

Looks like a great ride. Best viewed full screen.

Asheville, NC from RAPHA on Vimeo.

I tips me hat...

2009-06-11T20:54:00.008+12:00

Riding up the Tip Track is hard enough; racing up it is, um, not for me. It's for the masochists who did the Hawkins Hill Climb Challenge last weekend, like Josh and Marjolein. Not necessarily any more sane were Bella, Freda and myself who braved the wind, rain and cold to goad the suffering.
Stu Houltham turned up and set a new record of under 24 minutes. That's with a kilometre of road to get to the TT, then some more road after it gets to the top. That's quicker than I can do the TT on its own.

Josh wasn't far behind and finished fourth, like all good Kiwis do. He did win his age group though. Here he checks out the short shorts/boxer brief combo sported by Marco, who he just accidently called 'madam'. As in "excuse me madam, may I make a pass?"

What's it all about? Runners vs roadies vs MTBers, mass start on the coast, up the road for a km, MTB and runners turn up the TT, while roadies continue up some pretty steep tarmac. Fastest wins. Everybody hurts.

On Yer Bike's own Marj has been on fire lately, winning the Grand Traverse, Crazyman and she did a job on Melissa Moon up the TT. Who's she? Oh, only a two-time World mountain running champion. Under 30 minutes, on foot.

Did I mention it was a bit cold up there? Maybe if Josh had a lighter bike, a hardtail even, he would've gone better. What's that? Watch this space...

R.I.P. Grandma B

2009-06-09T07:21:00.001+12:00

My Grandma Bootham passed away on the weekend. She was only 100. Not a bad innings that. Rest in peace Grandma.

At least someone's riding...

2009-05-23T12:12:00.004+12:00

The cold is encroaching here in Wellington, and my motivation to ride is pretty low. Ratas has been laid up with some old-man hip injury, while I have no excuse other than wanting to stay warm. Meanwhile, in lifestyles of the rich and infamous, Col aka The Slug is in Canada, enjoying the warmth and some epic singletrack. Take it away Col... [Pristine scenery, but why do people leave their rubbish lying around?]
"SINGLETRACK GOLD that is. Miles and miles of it. Just across the river from downtown Whitehorse and only 4k's from our caravan park. A mix of walking trails, cross country ski tracks and purpose built bike track. And you can ride it all without restriction whether you be a Mtber, horse rider, walker, skier or whatever. And no interference from Parks Office. And fabulous tracks; up, down, smooth rolling twisty bits, fast downhill rooty bits, sandy bits, fabulous scenery. (dare I say frozen lakes and snow capped peaks). Even managed to trick Kelly into riding some of it. And followed by a refreshing ale at the end of the day."
Hands up, who hates Col....

Form

2009-05-17T19:32:00.002+12:00

Only The Killer looks this good in pink...

Hurt

2009-05-05T22:14:00.004+12:00

Saw this over at Drunk Cyclist and thought it was pretty cool. Some background... "This is just a small sample of the suffering that occurs on the big climb at the Whiskey Offroad mountain bike race put on by my boy Todd Sadow at epicrides.com. I was battling for third place in the 25 Proof, when my friend John “Fuzzy” Mylne came stomping by us! Fuzzy had started an hour earlier than us for the 50 Proof, and had already been climbing for 12 steep miles!"

Whiskey Offroad: Hurt from Mark Challoner on Vimeo.

Where did you ride on the weekend?

2009-05-04T22:53:00.006+12:00

I hope it looked this good. I hope you got some great views. I hope it was this cool. Skyline. My first time riding a Wellington icon. I still find myself surprised, even after two years, with the amount of trails around the city which I still haven't ridden, whether they be undiscovered, or known but just neglected.
Thanks for the ride Mike.

The Resurrection 2: Brian gets wood (rims)

2009-04-28T22:38:00.007+12:00

Combining his fine skills in the art of woodworking and an interest in all things wheeled, my old man is about to undertake another rescue mission on a lucky bike, this time a BSA track bike from back when Jesus rode the Ghent 6 day.
These are gonna look sweet when they're done I reckon. Wooden rims circa 1896. Check for termites before riding on these babies. Might need to glue on some new tubulars too...

No bike required

2009-04-25T18:19:00.011+12:00

Nothing like a road trip to blow out the cobwebs of life in the bus lane. Usually my road trips involve bikes, mates and Rotorua. This trip was different in the fact that no bikes or (male) mates were present, and Rotorua was still a few hours away. Destination: Napier, home of some cool trails also, but there'd be no singletrack for me this time, just a car, beer, motel and the Art Deco delights of the town. It was also a rare opportunity to take some photos of things that didn't have wheels.

Got lube? The museum at Norsewood was both a little bit lame and really cool.

Always something there to remind me...

Hell

2009-04-14T22:36:00.001+12:00

looks like this.

A pretty damn good Friday

2009-04-11T20:34:00.006+12:00

Sun, surf and snow. Signs of an impending winter on the Kaikouras. You might need to click on the pic to see what I mean...
I like riding with Bella because she uses the 'bushman's hankie' even more than me.

R.I.P. K-Dog

2009-04-03T22:06:00.004+13:00

Sad news via text from the K-Man today. His right-hand-dog Kade passed away last night. More of a small horse than a big German Shepherd, he was a gentle giant who's bark was way worse than his bite. He'll be causing some havoc in Doggie Heaven when he starts doing this....

Seeya Kade. Good boy.

El Ganso flies the coup

2009-03-27T18:54:00.007+13:00

All good things come to an end. Nothing lasts forever. Good friends are hard to find, harder to leave, and impossible to forget. Then there's The Goose. It's hard to forget him when hours after he's gone, when I can finally rest my head without having to block my ears against the gutteral noise emanating from deep within his oesophagus, I discover the tracksuit I'd spent ten days prohibiting from public viewing stashed under my pillow. Have you heard the screaming in horror movies when some poor young girl finds her boyfriends' severed head stashed in the refrigerator? Yeah, that's the one. I'm gonna have to burn that duvet too. Talk about soft (Steve, not the duvet). The temperature drops below 20c and the wool cap comes out, cups of tea are numerous and that tracksuit.... oh that tracksuit.
With Ganso's bike packed away and ready to be overhauled once back in Aus, he got to ride the shop test Stumpy at Makara for his final spin on Kiwi soil. We met up with Ratas and took on a few different trails to our initial ride on the Peak, namely Leaping Lizard and Nikau, with the easiest trail in the park to finish up. Nobody could crash on Lazy Fern... could they?
Of course 'they' could. Not just any crash. Not a little low-speed slip in a corner. No, a helmet-cracking, ankle-twisting head slam that only someone known as 'The Goose' could achieve.
Ratas was leaving the next day too, off on his next rope-course building mission. And then there were none. It was a great couple of weeks hanging out with El G, we saw a lot of cool shit, rode some great trails and drank some great beer (and coffee). But there's so much more to see in this awesome little country, and I hope to show him the rest some time soon. But for now, it's adios amigo, see you in Aus later in the year.

EGE4: Out and back

2009-03-22T15:59:00.013+13:00

At last, it was time for some real riding. Two days in Vegas, the first with a little bit of a slick coating on the trails, the second perfect, tacky ribbons of singletrack with an extra topping of flow.
Our digs for the first two nights was bike-friendly, cheap, and right across the road from the bottlo. Perfect.

Wow, Steve looks like he's going really fast. He wasn't.

If only there was a shock pump and spoke key. The tool rack at the top of Billy T is a cool feature, and map boards are all over the forest now.

Steve managed to find the only stick on Split Enz, the smoothest, most stick-free trail in the Southern Hemisphere. Really.

Day two we decided to go to the top of the park and check out Tuhoto Ariki, a technical trail known to be a bit boggy after rain. It was a bit, but it's still my favourite trail in the forest.

Roots, rocks, logs and twisty turns dominate. It keeps you on your toes, and when followed up with Split Enz, well it's the icing on the cake.

If you eat these mushys, the roots become snakes and the trees talk to you.

The trusty Laser hotfooted us away from Vegas, with a detour up Mt. Ruapehu on the way.

Lunch on the back of the Laser was popular with the locals.

Steve managed to find the only loose rock on the mountain known as the most stable of rock in the Southern Hemisphere, ending up on his arse but breaking his fall with my camera.

And then.... we were back in Welly. How could we tell?

EGE 3: Tourists

2009-03-21T08:44:00.007+13:00

When in Rotorua, do as the tourists do... Breathe in some toxic gases...
Take an iconic sheep/landscape photo...
Walk on water...
Blend in with the locals...

Let off some steam...

Then go ride.

Get outa town: The EGE pt2

2009-03-19T20:37:00.009+13:00

Napier or Taupo? Taupo or Napier? The half-price shopper docket won out and Taupo it was. It's a shit town that one. Shoulda gone to Napier. Oh well, at least the forecast was good. But guess what, the weather turned out to be shithouse.
But we wanted to ride, and a new trail called W2K was on the agenda. After passing the turnoff and subsequently cursing the Kennett's book, we finally found the start of the trail and trundled off into the rain.
It made a nice change from Craters Of The Moon, which while the name fascinated Steve, the prospect of riding the trails themselves bored me. W2K was pretty standard fare, a twisty, smooth 14km out-and-back singletrack meandering along and above the lake, which would have looked pretty spectacular had we been able to see it.
We turned around at the halfway point, before the reputed 6km downhill, which we figured would be a 6km uphill on the way back. The rain wasn't easing up and a beer in the spa seemed a better option.
I presented a demonstration of the fine Kiwi tradition of bike-wrangling a sheep, which I assured Steve was compulsory at the conclusion of any ride undertaken in the rain beside a lake. I don't think it washed....
At least Steve did though, and the warm lake water and misty backdrop made for a cool bike-wash station. Can sheep shit kill fish?
There was only one thing to do... follow our noses.

The El Ganso Experience Pt. 1: Welly

2009-03-15T20:30:00.008+13:00

Did you hear the one about the goose who couldn't fly? Well, he can. El Ganso aka The Steamer aka, um, Steve, is in NZ to share an enlightening and spiritual experience with his dearest friend, mentor and confidant. But that guy has apparently moved to Tanzania, so Steve settled for hanging out with me for a couple of weeks. Of course the first thing to do when arriving in a new country is to go to the pub. Then attempt to ride bicycles the next day. Repeat. So we've done the icons, Makara on Saturday and The Bays on Sunday, a most glorious day in the capital for a road ride. And a beer. Or two. Repeat.

Karnage

2009-03-13T10:22:00.007+13:00

Karapoti loves brake pads....
mmmm tasty. Those aren't mine, but a couple of customers. There's been a few bikes needing some TLC this week, I'm sure all the shops have seen similiar cases of abuse.
I'd fitted some Jagwire pads a week before the race, and they still have plenty of meat on them. Way cheaper than XTR's, they're well worth a look.
My bike performed flawlessly as always, as did Mike's and Rob's and Roger's... Stumpys rock! I pulled out my bottom bracket and not a drop of water emerged. Nice.
Schwalbe Racing Ralph 2.25s are the shit. I thought they might struggle in the goop, but they didn't slip or slide and rolled like a ball bearing in mercury. New favourite tyres.

More reports of survival, joy and pain:
Cabin
Houltham

Some Bushlovers...
Goldie
The Tiger
Clive

The numbers never lie...
The Army does Karapoti
What happened at the pointy end

Sloppy seconds

2009-03-09T18:25:00.009+13:00

Do this:

Grab your phone. Choose the Write Message function and type out the words "ah shit". Send it to someone. Put your phone down.

How long did that take? Probably more than 20 seconds.

The grand plan of never having to race Karapoti again was thwarted by that barest of margins on Saturday. I'd said that if I joined the 3 hour club, I'd never return to the God-forsaken place (sorry Carl). I also said that if I didn't get under 3 hours (or was beaten by Mike) then I would leave the country and return to Aus. I say some stupid things.

All eyes were on the weather websites in the week leading up to the Big K. And it was looking good until Friday, when the predicted showers turned up and decided to become rain overnight. It was still coming down as we (Josh my co-pilot and music critic for the trip up) got to the start and parked the Laser in a paddock which looked and felt like it could swallow up a small hatchback if any more mud was churned up. Paul was parked in front of us, and you could see his hair and hear his voice from half a km down the road. The usual pre-race shit talk was in full swing as friends, Romans and countrymen wandered around nervously nattering to whoever was in proximity. "Howya goin' mate, feelin fit?" "Yeah na good, good.... goooood" as their voice trails off with more than a hint of trepidation and the eyes turn skyward.

For someone who was about to line up with the Pro/Elite field, I was feeling strangely calm. I'd said to Matt Farrar that sub-3 could be out of the question due to the conditions, and maybe that took some pressure off. After all, it's all I'd been thinking about (besides beer and sex) for the last few months. But deep down, I knew I was still going for it, because what I was about to go through wasn't high on my must-do-again list.

There were already riders lined up in the river while the race briefing was still going on and a few trips up the road to 'warm-up' were required. I lined up behind Paul and beside Andrew, one of our customers. I took it easy through the river as the gun went off, trying not to slip into the deep spot and be trampled. Of course the deep spot found me, and I had not only soaked shoes but a soggy chamois as well. It would become a soggy, sandy and slimy chamois soon after, making the clean river water seem like a better option after all. Up the road, into the gorge, glasses already rendered useless by the mud and water flying off the other riders wheels and my own. I'd planned for this though, and was packing 2 spare pairs in my pack. Andrew was stopped on the side of the track not far in, bent over his bike looking at the drivetrain. I saw his bike in the shop on Monday, rear derailleur snapped in half. That'd do it.

Starting before the masses has it's benefits, mainly not having to battle through swarms of punters strewn all over the early climbs, pushing their bikes up the riding line. Riding in a group of about a dozen, including Samara Shepherd and a bunch of guys who didn't seem to want to ride on the front, I kept repeating my race mantra of "ride your own race, ride your own pace". Which only meant that in no time I was on the front, dragging their sorry asses up the road before shelling them like peas as we hit the Warm-Up Climb. It was halfway up where I spotted Paul off his bike, doing his best Andrew impersonation, bent over but only lubing his sucking chain. Soon after I passed Matt, who I'd remembered Ratas saying he'd passed in the same spot last year. I was feeling comfortable as we crested the climb and bombed the short downhill into the creek.

Onto Deadwood, more granny gear action until no traction. Mike joined me as I had a little push before re-mounting and completing the climb with Mike right behind me. We had a bit of a chat and I told him we were ahead of schedule for a sub 2:45, according to the splits I'd worked out off the website. We hammered across the rolling stuff across the top, and Mike looked strong as he took the front and kept the pace high but comfortable. Singlespeed guru Garth Weinberg came alongside soon after, and said to me "Can you smell it?" which I took to mean the putrid bog hole we'd just ridden through. He followed his own question with "The blood in the Rock Garden... Oh yeah!" I thought "hmmm, must be close to the Rock Garden.." and then "man, that guy's an animal" as he hammered out of the saddle over another rise in the trail.

I'd pre-determined that it would probably be in my best interests to walk/slide/crawl the Rock Garden rather than ride it, but when you're in a race and there's guys in front and behind you, the best-laid plans get tossed aside like a baby's head-sized boulder tumbling down the trail in front of you. Mike was sliding down the first big drop on the left, and even though this looked like the worst option available, I followed suit. Not completely thrilled with that piece of poor judgement, I rode most of the rest of it, interspersed with moments of tripoding, flailing, bouncing and sliding, with only one foot clipped in some of the time. By the bottom Mike and I had swapped places, but were still within spitting distance (I actually felt some of Mike's spit hit my helmet at one point.)

Devil's Staircase was next on the menu, along with the realisation that you'll be carrying your bike for the next couple of km's.
Although you are reduced to a lycra Jesus bearing an aluminium (or carbon if your name is Mike) cross and have nowhere to go but up, there are always some dicks who feel compelled to yell "move it" or "pick up the pace" as they crawl up behind you. Actually, this dick was in front of me, so he was saved a mouthful of return advice this time. Mike was edging ahead on a couple of the rideable sections, and as we got to the top of the Staircase I could see him exiting the trees as I approached the last little pinch. My pre-race plan was to stop to lube my chain and change my glasses to a fresh, non-mud coated pair. I saw Ricky Pincott just taking off, and I thought to see him this far in I must be going OK. Mike had scuppered off without stopping, not wearing glasses and not concerned about his chain's condition apparently. I wish I'd had his foresight, or any sight at that stage.

Big Ring Boulevard is always a relief, although the heart rate doesn't seem to drop much as it's an adrenaline-filled ride, especially when you overcook it into a few of the tighter corners at over 40kmh. I was in a little train with two other guys, and through the creek at the bottom I passed them when they got off and pushed up the steep exit, while I managed to ride it out fairly nicely. All there was to do now was prepare mentally for the climb up Dopers (and to get as much gel and water down that I could).

After the pre-run a few weeks ago I was confident that if I could get up here at a reasonable pace then the 3 would be well within reach. I tried to check my computer and the time-splits taped on my top tube, but my vision and the mud conspired against me, and all I could deduce was that I was about 5 minutes behind 2:45 time. That would do nicely. What I didn't take into account was the fact that the time on your computer is going to be out after carrying your bike for a good chunk of time (spinning the front wheel a few times while hiking up the Staircase doesn't make much difference, apparently.) And only two days later did I even think about looking at the watch on my wrist....

Dopers is a bitch of a climb, in the fact that it just seems to keep going, with plenty of steep pitches that necessitate walking (well for mere mortals anyway). I didn't seem to be going anywhere near as fast on the easier bits as I'd remembered the pre-run. Two other dudes had been with me all the way up, and as we crested the summit and headed onto the most welcome downhill, I encouraged them to hit the gas and help each other back to the finish. Of course, one guy was dropped straight away, before the other on got away from me heading down towards the river. I was on my own and would have to keep my speed up without any wheels to magnetise myself to. Back along the gorge, passing a few 20km Challenge riders (who looked way shagged) then being joined and passed by a guy who may or may not have been riding with me earlier; it was all a blur at this stage. He was winding it up and I grabbed his wheel, weaving from side to side to avoid a face-full of mud every two metres. Coming onto the road, I passed him with the words "c'mon bro, let's nail it." By the time I hit the bridge 100 metres away, I turned around and he was blown. Not gonna get any help there... I buried myself down the road, with my computer showing about 2 hours 53. Even with the minutes lost from carrying and stopping, I was sure I was gonna make it. Coming back towards the river at full tilt, wondering whether to blast into it or get off and run, there was only one choice after my near-drowning at the start. Straight into the deep spot, flail around then crawl out like some primordial fish and run up the bank for a textbook Sven Nys re-mount (without the textbook part) and the sprint home (without the sprint part).

"3:07 for Joe Bloggs" was all I could hear over the PA as i approached the line, and as the realisation that I'd missed the mark hit me, I let out a few choice words for the benefit of the kiddies at the side of the track. Ant Bradshaw was in the finish area too, and I asked if he'd made it... just. I made my way over to Mike and Karen (who'd ridden the Challenge, nice one) and asked if he'd made it. Yeah! I was so stoked for him and gave him a big man-hug for his trouble... he loves a hug does Mike. But I was wrestling with the demons of having missed by a margin I still wasn't sure of, and I was holding onto hope that the times were to be corrected for the timing mat time (rather than the gun time). It was a slim chance.

Meanwhile, late-starter Josh turned up looking like the creature from the Black Lagoon, with a smoking 2:47 and the win in his age group, 19th outright. Awesome, and all on a 2x9 drivetrain.

There was only one thing to do. Have a beer. Or two. Later the results were posted, and there it was. 3:00:20. Twenty seconds. The internal post mortem begins. Where could I have gone faster? Nowhere really, I rode pretty much the best I could. I knew exactly where the time was lost, and that was at the top of the Staircase. Even when I saw that Mike hadn't stopped, I still stuck with my plan to lube the chain and change my glasses. I had the option to go on, but clear(er) vision and chainsuck prevention were my priorites. But 56th outright and 35th 'Pro' ain't too shabby. Oh yeah, Cabin got the win, but times were around ten minutes slower than last year, showing how much the conditions played a part.

Well I'm still in the country, and already am plotting next year's attempt. Even if I'd gone under this time, I still had so much fun out there that I would be back anyway, maybe on a singlespeed cross bike, or a 20-inch girls bike, but something happened on Saturday that made me see why people come back for this horrible, beautiful, brutal, sublime ordeal year after gruelling year.

Um, actually... KRAP!!

2009-03-08T11:42:00.001+13:00

Well it was good while it lasted. The official time is the 'gun' time, so back to being disappointed, I missed by 20 seconds.

Not so Krap!!

2009-03-08T09:48:00.002+13:00

After a night of dealing with the disappointment of missing out on the 3 hour club by twenty seconds, yet being happy for my mates Mike and Josh on their awesome rides, this morning brought some news that has me feeling quite damn chuffed.

I made it!

Mike texted me with the news that the official results, with the net times, are up.

2:59:17.

Oh Yeah.

Will post a full report after I rebuild my bike!

Krap

2009-03-07T19:24:00.004+13:00

Karapoti is done and dusted, though dust would have been more welcome than the mudfest we were greeted with.

Anyway, a brief overview before I unleash my full rant in a day or two:

It was wet.

We all rode well.

Some better than others.

Josh cleaned up with a win in his age group, 19th outright and a time of 2:47.

Mike smashed it up with a 45th outright and a 2:58.

I should've kept riding with Mike instead of stopping to change my glasses and lube my chain. 56th outright. A gut-wrenching 3:00:20.

20 fucking seconds.....

I'll never lube my chain again.

Makes me want to go on a nice, long road ride...

2009-02-22T14:10:00.003+13:00

Rapha Rides TOC - Episode 1 from RAPHA on Vimeo.

Rapha Rides the TOC - Episode 2 from RAPHA on Vimeo.

Rapha Rides the TOC - Episode 3 from RAPHA on Vimeo.

Rapha Rides the TOC - Episode 4 from RAPHA on Vimeo.

Take Two

2009-02-12T20:21:00.005+13:00

Time is running out. The K word is only three weeks away, and I feel like I'm in stasis. My social life is eating into my training time, and now the rain has come to waylay any attempts to keep/improve any condition I may have. Drastic measures are being taken, maybe a little hint of desperation mixed in too.
Waitangi Day saw me nursing a two-day-old hangover and ten hours sleep from the previous 48, and a lack of decent food the night before doesn't help with a Karapoti pre-run. But as I'd committed to the cause, and didn't want to waste a perfect day, I slunk my sorry arse into Marty's wagon, along with Rob, and prepared to endure. Mike, JJ and Roger were already raring to go by the time we hit the carpark, and were away up the gorge while we tried to get motivated. The trail was in a lot more desirable condition than our previous attempt, but it wasn't helping the legs any. At least we were peeling off clothing rather than packing it on in an attempt to stay dry/warm. We caught up to JJ and roger on the Warm-Up Climb, and as I was giving Roger the old g'day, I managed to fall over, on a climb, in granny gear, hardly moving... it's a rare talent. At the top of Deadwood we met up with Mike, who had been smashing it up on the shop Test Enduro. JJ had managed to drop his bike while carrying it, putting a nice bend in his rim, which then became a taco when he applied his wheel-truing 'skills'. Roger rolled in and informed us that Rob had picked up a stick and snapped his derailleur and hanger, and was hoofing it back to the car. That guy is cursed, I swear. Marty and I decided it would be not too slack of us to continue on, so we tried not to hang around too much, but not ride like madmen either. I was starting to feel a bit more human, and even Devils Staircase didn't hurt too much. Marty managed to bury himself up to his knees in a boghole after being told by some punters that the middle was the best line. The Rock Garden and Big Ring Boulevard were fun, and then the last big grind up Dopers seemed to be less of a chore than I remembered it from two years ago. The descent and the ride back through the gorge came and went pretty quickly, and we were back to console the forlorn Yank in a touch over three hours. All I could think about was catching up on all that lost sleep, and how the K word is not such a bad one after all... though I'll see about that in three weeks.

Music stirs the soul...

2009-02-01T23:45:00.007+13:00

One of the things I've missed most about not having all my possessions here in NZ is music. Yeah, I have an Ipod and a little speaker system for it, but I don't have my full CD and vinyl collection and a decent system to listen to it on. But I get by.

It's cool how certain bands or songs can take you to a time or a place in your life. Well, the soundtrack for my time here (so far) would have to be Sigur Ros. This band hails from Iceland, and on those cold Wellington winter nights, their haunting sound evokes images in my mind of what I imagine the Icelandic landscape would look like, and how the cold would feel on my skin, in my bones, and how that must influence the band to make such beautiful music. This video showcases both the music and the land. Amazing. I think I have to go there.

While watching their videos on youtube, I noticed that there was a link mentioning the Pixies, where they visit Sigur Ros's studio. Great musicians seem to respect and revere each other, and the Pixies have long been at the top of my list, so to find this connection was not entirely a surprise.

I then felt compelled to watch the great band performing during their reformation a couple of years ago, which I lamented missing out on (due to them playing Australia while I was here) back in 07.

Another of my all-time idols would have to be Bowie. In fact, his music changed my whole outlook when I discovered him around the late 70's as a teenager (me, not him). I delved into his entire back catalogue, and things would never be the same (and then the Pixies came along). Bowie is a huge Pixies fan too, and has covered their song 'Cactus' and done a pretty good job I think.

Which led me to this: a cover of Bowie's song 'Heroes' by Adrian Belew and Martha Wainwright. I remember watching this when it aired on SBS show Rockwiz. I was at Phillipa and Steve's place, it was a Saturday night and we were all in awe at this amazing performance. Phillipa's son Sam made comment of Martha's sexy aura and great voice, and I'd have to agree with his assessment.

Martha had also appeared on Rockwiz previously, dueting with Dan Kelly (without his Alpha Males). Once again, I remember witnessing this at Phillipa's house, and once again, we were blown away. Martha seems to be able to strike up an instant rapport with whoever she is performing, and her voice fits beautifully with the smooth pipes of Kelly here.

Also appearing on Rockwiz was NZ singer Anika Moa, possessor of one of the best voices and the cutest dimples and facial expressions I've ever seen/heard. This song will always have a place in my heart, and will carry me back to these shores, no matter where I may be. Music is a powerful force, and can take you anywhere you want, all over the world, and through time, without leaving your chair.

In Command, flat out

2009-01-26T17:38:00.012+13:00

Sliced bread was undoubtedly a great invention, but as I reported a little while back, adjustable seatposts are just that little bit better. A few weeks after initially running/rocking a Joplin, we got word that the Specialized Command Post was about to hit our shores (which considering the diminutive size of this country, is no mean feat). There's nothing at all wrong with the Joplin, but the blurb on the Command Post said it was a bit lighter, and of course that's all I need to base an outlandishly expensive purchase on. Everyone else in the country must've had the same idea, or believed the hype, as the whole huge shipment of fifteen (!) posts sold out in a matter of hours. The due date for the next lot was late March. I could wait, but could Mike? Of course not, so armed with a tip-off from Fraser, he tracked one down at another store in Levin of all places. (If you are unfamiliar with Levin, it's not the end of the world, but you can see it from there.) But they ended up selling it before he could get his grubby little hands on it. Then, out of the blue, the two that we had put on backorder turned up. I promptly sold my Joplin to Magnus, and took command. So Sunday was the test ride, and it works as advertised. It has three positions rather than the infinite adjustment of the Joplin, but the 'Cruiser' position (30mm drop) is awesome for technical but not-too-steep-stuff, like on Deliverance. Also new on the Stumpy is a Ritchey Carbon flat bar that is on test for SPOKE. It's got a 10 degree back sweep, similar to most riser bars, but without the rise (obviously). I thought it might be a bit too XC for my bike, but I'm impressed how good it feels. It kicks forward from the stem, so the sweep doesn't put you too far back like some other bars. The test ride of choice was up Rollercoaster, down Deliverance, then to the summit of Makara and down into Wahine. I don't know if it was the post, the great condition the trail is in, or my superior bike-handling skills, but I cleaned Deliverance for only the second time ever. There was a German invasion along too, with Magnus rocking his Joplin and Jan on the comeback trail after his attempt to have two elbows on the one arm. As he screamed like a baby when he got some leg cramps, I can only imagine the shrieking that must've occured when he snapped his arm in half. After the ride and a quick coffee it was down to Lambton Quay for the Tour of Welly criterium. On Yer Bike's own Michael "Hammerin" Naylor was getting spat out of the bunch after getting tangled up in a crash, and he looked resplendent in his new/my old helmet. The weekend was nicely topped off with a few beers at Macs with Claire, Magnus and Rob.

Krapapoti

2009-01-22T21:18:00.032+13:00

It's inevitable that in the lead-up to Karapoti that you're gonna have to do a reconaissance ride. Weeks ago, Mike had decided the time, and last Sunday would be it. As the day drew closer, all eyes were on the Wind Guru with trepidation as the winds were to be howling and the rain to be pouring. Mike kept his optimism high, as did JJ, while I was my realistic (read: pessimistic) self, predicting that the day could be a wet and muddy hell. Only time would tell. Rain heavy enough to wake me up fell during the night, and text tennis was being played between all in the morning. Mike and his crew (JJ, Jamie, Roger, Grant and his dad) were packed and going, while my crew (Magnus, Paul and Marty) were still debating the merits of risking drowning in an infamous Karapoti boghole. Paul, being the mental case that he is, predicted that the rain would be lighter in the mountains... Marty, Magnus and I derided him, with good reason. Paul should leave the comedy to his brother. As we got closer to the Akatarawas, it was teeming. But we were there, and with every chance that race day could be the same, we headed off up the gorge. It wasn't long, about fifty metres in fact, before we were covered from head to toe in mud. Now Karapoti isn't exactly know as a fun ride, it's pretty much all fireroad, and most of that is granny-gear climbs that seem to go on forever. Magnus got a flat at the bottom of the Warm-Up climb, and waiting for him at the top we were anything but warmed up. Next up was the Deadwood climb, longer and steeper in places, and at the top the rain was getting heavier, and we weren't even close to halfway. We decided to cut our losses and turned around and pinned it back downhill to the carpark, tails between our legs. Mike and his crew had decided the same thing and were already packing up by the time we got back, after returning via a shortcut. By the time we drove back to Welly, the sun was shining but the wind was nasty, so we weren't too unhappy about our decision. Well, I wasn't anyway, and somehow felt like saying "I told you so"... but I'd never do that. The plan is to go and have another crack this weekend, but with the Tour of Wellington winding up with a criterium in Lambton Quay on Sunday, it seems like watching others suffer might be the better option.

OYB XMAS BBQ Ride

2009-01-17T20:10:00.008+13:00

Xmas in January is a concept that's new to me. But last Sunday the Big (and Lady) Kahuna hosted our work xmas get together at his house up on the Kapiti coast. Both our stores got together for a barby in the afternoon, but first Simon from the Paraparaumu store took us on a ride around his local stomping ground. The Welly crew was represented by myself, Josh, Mike and JJ (Josh Junior) while Simon was the only Pram man. Ex-roadie sandwich-eating beautiful men were represented by Fraser.
While I like riding, what I really wanted to see was the eels being fed just up the road at Ngarara, and I petitioned hard for us to abandon the mountains in favour of morays, but I was duly ignored. Natalie, Karen and Keisha got to enjoy the spectacle though, and by all accounts, it is a show not to be missed (or was it witnessed?) a second time.

It was good to get out and ride some different trails though, even if most of the 'trails' were either road or fireroad. There were a lot of long climbs, and the views of Kapiti Island were pretty damn impressive.

Everyone had a go at getting up this short, snotty rock face, well everyone except me (bad knee/taking photos...) and Fraser (too pretty/roady...). No one made it.

Josh was riding the shop test Enduro, and took on the persona of a rad all-mountain rider... well, at least the face of one.

We got to ride for about three hours, and when we got back to Kamp Kahuna it was a quick dip in the sea (brrrr) and jet ski-ing for the brave/stupid. The spa seemed like a better option.
The rest of the OYB team and hangers on turned up during the afternoon, and as usual the Big Kahuna put on a great spread, some beers were consumed, and a good day was had by all.

You're never too old to learn...

2009-01-12T16:27:00.008+13:00

Every other Tuesday night, I put on my tweed jacket with the leather elbow patches, fill a Thermos with Earl Grey and drive the Rover 3500 to the designated home of one of my fellow members of our esteemed Book Group. As a big fan of the brilliant British television show of the same name, I was hoping that the participants and scenarios would be of the same ilk (i.e Dutch and Swedish footballer's girlfriends, transplanted Americans and frustrated housewives) but sadly instead it's more the domain of 70 year old widows, accountants, drama students and science teachers (who also choose the Rover as their preferred mode of transport). And much to my chagrin, most of them are there to actually read books and then discuss them. We each get to pick a book, so I was somewhat shocked yet pleasantly surprised when Doris (God bless her hand-darned socks) picked the 'Whizzkids [guide to] Bikes'. As we each need to have a copy of the designated tome to peruse at our leisure over the impending fortnight, and suspecting that Doris had dug up her copy from beneath dozens of Dominion Posts and English Womens Weeklys circa 1956, I knew I (and the rest of the group) would have a difficult task to procure our very own 'bibles of bike advice'. Luckily for me, I happen to be befriended by tight-fisted, unimaginitive and lazy friends, and it was to this end that Josh came up with a completely serendipitous Festivus gift for me. Yes, he had managed to find the Whizzkids manual! Actually, he didn't so much as find it, but had it thrust upon him by a flatmate, who in turn had stumbled upon it in one of Wellington's many second-hand thrift stores, no doubt buried beneath a pile of New Ideas of much the same era as Doris'. Displaying a similar gift-giving torpor as I myself am wont to employ (I'd given him the copy of 'Death Cults' that K-Man had left behind back in 07, and which had been buried not under old newspapers, but old free Real Estate guides from the previous two years) he had simply passed it on to me while passing it off as something he had actively sought-out and put a lot of thought into. Ok, he did tell me the true circumstances of it's aquisition and admitted to it being a "shit gift". But I saw it differently. In fact, I thought it was one of the best gifts I'd received in recent Festivus memory; much better than the tighty-whitey underwear from Mike, or the wind-up kangaroo that Josh had bestowed upon me last Festivus, which promptly broke after only one trip off the edge of the table. Plus I'd probably be the only member of my Book Group (besides Doris, of course) who would actually have had the good fortune to read it and would be able to critique its many helpful tips. After all, the WhizzKids professed that after reading their book, that I'd be able to "beat the experts at their own game". And as I am supposed to be one of these so-called 'experts', I look forward to beating myself at my own game, something I've miserably failed to achieve despite decades of trying. I can't wait to peruse some of the other titles in the series too, as I've always harboured a burning desire to be a detective or a magician. Maybe Doris has them buried somewhere....

Belgian Cyclocross National Championship 09

2009-01-12T16:25:00.000+13:00

Looking back

2008-12-27T14:44:00.013+13:00

Another year is done and dusted. Time to make resolutions and then forget about them, or push them to one side, or not make them at all. I usually go with the latter, as it saves the effort of actually thinking of something that I want to do in the new year, or more aptly saves me from thinking about all the aspects of my life that could do with brushing up. I'd rather just keep doing whatever it is that I'm doing, proficiently or otherwise. And it's not so bad, when I look back at the last year there's been a fair bit going on, and not much of it at all bad. The year started off about as well as it could when Josh and I headed up to Vegas for the New Year, and had some great rides with Ratas, who I was just getting to know. It would turn out that he's as sick and twisted as myself and a lot more rides and good times would be had. February saw the first of many bike purchases among our posse as Mike got a new Stumpy Expert which would eventually morph into a Pro and then an S-Works carbon, somehow avoiding a marriage break-up in the processs. Lots of new trails were revealed around the city, including Wainui, Belmont and a heap of singletrack tucked away in the hills on the way to Makara. I got to catch up briefly with my old friend/workmate Ebo when he was in town burgling the KOM jersey at the Wellington Tour.
There were more new bikes when Josh got his Turner Flux, I traded my Tarmac for a Roubaix and the Stumpy was upgraded for a new model. Mike put his new machine through its paces with a great ride at Karapoti while Josh didn't have a day he'd like to remember. I got down with Kate and James and the crew at Summerset which was a good blow-out-the-cobwebs mission. If there were any cobwebs left, I completely drowned them in a weekend of many beers and no gears at the NZ Singlespeed Nationals in Vegas, where I put my new TriCross to good use after selling my trusty Langster to Chris The Courier, who stormed to a 6th place after consuming not much less beer than me. Josh got a new Tarmac and the late summer evenings saw a couple of Wellycats alleycat races which were pretty fun. Fun was not something I'd describe a three-hour sitting with one Henry Rollins as, more like a aural barrage to be endured, even though everything he said held us captive. Everytime I rode around the Bays, or on the trails with views like this, I was reminded why I love Wellington so much and why I'm still here. Winter started to set in, and Ratas somehow convinced us that getting up at 5.30am a couple of mornings a week in the cold would be a good idea, and though it may not have been good for our bikes, it seemed to do the trick for our fitness later on. Maybe Australia would be warmer, so off I went for a three week holiday, which coincided with Le Tour and getting some wisdom teeth out in between catching up with my family, friends and cats. I put the winter training to good use with some successful races at the Whaka 100 and the Welly 12 Hour, but managed to crash before the Makara Peak Rally and not get to race it for the second year running. The lay-off meant for more beer consumption, good preparation for Ratas' Festivus celebrations, a great way to finish up a pretty decent year. If 09 is as good, then it'll be not too damn shabby either. Happy New Year to all my friends on both sides of the ditch!

Festivus: Bikes, bats, balls, beers (and Bolts!)

2008-12-26T13:10:00.007+13:00

Festivus 08 turned out to be a great day. Ratas had it all planned out, a ride in the morning and eating, drinking and being merry in the afternoon.

Of course the Bays were calling, and the views of the city were great as always.

Karl was getting a little bit over-excited about the Pohutakawa trees in blossom. They do look pretty spectacular though, and apparently if they are in bloom before Festivus then we are in for a good, long summer.

The Petanque was hotly contested and the skills were finely honed. The front yard proved to be a better surface than the back.

The Ratahi's back yard isn't exactly ideal for cricket either, but we kept the Kiwi/Aussie rivalry alive with the usual Aussie dominance prevailing, until I managed to injure myself (again) and had to administer some more hop-based painkillers. Of course the 'underarm incident' was dragged up during the game, by Claire who isn't even a real Kiwi!

On the way over I was following this bus, which reminded me of my cat Bolts back in Aus.

I'd bought a bottle of red in his honour also, and I wondered what the little fella was up to....

Well he was filling my seat and eating prawns apparently!

I hope everyone had a good Festivus.

Happy Festivus!

2008-12-24T12:31:00.000+13:00

I have too many grievances to air here...

Of K's and T's...

2008-12-14T14:31:00.005+13:00

After my first, and only, experience with the institution that is the Karapoti Classic, I swore I'd never do it again. So for this year's race, I was only too happy to let Mike and Josh take the day off work while I dealt with the YJA's and FCS's, letting them endure the granny-gear climbs, the shin-deep bogs and the thousands of punters doing their best to make your day worse than it already is.

But as that day back in March unfolded, and even in the weeks leading up to it, I was more than a little curious, intrigued maybe, with the whole aura surrounding the race. Frequent texts to the guys revealed the heartache and jubilation that can encompass one's day out in the Akatawaras. While Josh had a race he'd rather forget (and which I've probably just facilitated in opening up those wounds), Mike had a storming ride, getting oh-so-close to the coveted three hour mark. It reminded me just how close I had come myself, and the voices in my head were telling me that I needed to have another crack. As I normally do when the voices talk, I quickly dismissed their ramblings as nonsensical gibberish, and went about my day.

With the deadline approaching for the latest issue of SPOKE magazine, Eleanor (our fearless leader and tormenter of contributors) appeared at work one day with an offer, or more like a desperate plea, for Josh to write a piece on the 2009 race. He'd have two days to write it, and as a bonus, he'd get a free entry. Probably still unable to sleep at night from wrestling with his DNF demons, or possibly because he has a slight disdain for being put under the pressure of an unreasonable deadline (coupled with a strong aversion to not being paid until months after the fact), he declined on the spot, and as I happened to be in the vicinity (and having been conveniently branded a 'staff writer') I was the designated sucker. I wrote the article, took the entry and tried not to think about the actual painful part (the riding).

Now I knew there would come a time when I would, indeed, have to start thinking about that actual painful part. And I've been thinking about it a lot, to the point that it is starting to dominate my riding thoughts, rather than just the usual "I can't wait to have a beer after this" which is about the only time I give credence to the voices within. Even the 'T' word has crept into my psyche... training. And training for the Karapoti always seems to involve that other horrible 'T' word, the Tip Track. Ian suggests doing repeats up it, three at a time. That's almost the total times I've ridden it! Ratas wanted us to climb it yesterday at 8am... of course we pointed out his stupidity and left him to acsend alone. But I concede that I'll have to face up to it sooner or later.

So the entry is in, there's no backing out, and the sub-3 is the goal. I'm entered in Pro/Elite class, the idea being in the first wave of riders gives you no traffic to battle with the later start of the age groups (and being so old, that's a lot of riders to wade through). There's talk of the major sponsor Merida loaning me a bike to ride, either for the race or a pre-race photo shoot, and the bike will be a Ninety-Six, a light XC weapon. Not sure which spec, but I'm hoping it's this...

My other thoughts have been to maybe getting a new Epic and tricking it out with my nice bits...

Or the Stumpjumper 29er is still in the back of my head too, I could build it up nice as well...

If money was no object (and it is) then I'd pony up for one of these (frame and fork only)...

Whatever bike I'm on, the only certainty is that I'll be suffering, and when it's done in under 3, I'll be able to walk away from the K word forever... or will I?

WWJD?

2008-12-11T09:17:00.001+13:00

What Would Jagger Do?

This, that and the other

2008-12-09T19:23:00.010+13:00

Getting old(er) can be a real bitch. Hair gets grey and falls out, joints creak and aren't as flexible as they once were, and youthful good looks wane and the ladies don't swoon around as they did before the creases took over your skin. Okay, so the last one isn't completely true, I'm still magnificent and chicks dig me! What's this got to do with riding? I'll just fight back the impending senility, and, oh yeah... one thing that really bugs me about the onset of seniority is the inability to bounce back from cycling-related accident injuries. As told in my last post, I took a bit of a trip over the bars last weekend on Makara's Trickle Falls, seemingly innocuous at the time, but rendering my knee a stiff, swollen, useless joint for a couple of days. No problem, I've had plenty worse than this before, and I presumed a few days rest would see me right to race the Makara Peak Rally on Sunday. But, the advancing years saw to it that I would still be feeling pain in the knee on even the flattest, easiest-spinning road rides. A late fitness test on Sunday morning forced me to let Josh take my spot in the Solo Open category, meaning it would be he who would suffer up, down and around the Peak, covering every sweet singletrack (and only the slightest smattering of fire-road and asphalt) in the park. The weather was perfect, about 22 but with that NZ bite to the sun which makes it feel a lot warmer, but doesn't fry your brain. I hung out and caught up with a few people, then went for a walk to get some pics and video (which I have no idea how to upload, but I'm working on it). God and Josh (that's him leading up Lazy Fern, above) finished second and third respectively, but Ratas didn't even offer an excuse for his own no-show, only to tell us later he was going carol singing with Claire... the end is nigh for that man. There's one in every crowd... Rich (Joe) didn't learn from his near-death-Santa-suit-experience from last year, and had a near-death-Capt. America-suit-experience this year. Proof that postmen are 20cents short of a stamp.

Meanwhile, another happening event that I've been unable to attend is the return of the Underground Super D series. Paul, Jim and Tryfan are up to their old tricks, getting the rabble together at undisclosed spots around Welly for some racing and drinking, not necessarily in that order. And in a move that may jeopardise the legitimacy of it's 'underground' status, DB Breweries have been enlisted to supply their Export 33 beer for all the rounds (good enough reason for me to get to the next round, bung knee or otherwise). Pics by Caleb, who dropped me off a sixer of said brew to review for the next issue of SPOKE. Chur!

Mini-Me Mike took on Taupo a couple of weeks ago on his Langster, and kicked its sorry ass! We had feared the worst for the little fella, after the 'tapering' phase of his 'training' had lasted the better part of three months. At least he was well rested, and the lack of gears and a freewheel didn't stop him posting a time of around 5 hours and change for the 160km. Karen, who had done a lot more training and who we secretly believed (and maybe just wished a little bit) might show Mike how it's done, rode a sub-6 hour circumnavigation. Well done those people! Read their reports on the big day out here.

I saw one of the best movies I've had the pleasure of viewing in a long time (well, a week, after one of the worst) on Sunday at the lovely old Penthouse Cinema in Brooklyn. In Bruges is one of those films that you want to see again right after walking out of the theatre. I'm not a Colin Farrell fan, but he plays a great character in this film, and the plot is tasty enough to keep you interested beyond the dark comedy which dominates. It's got sex, love, death, violence, and midgets, everything you need for an entertaining night out. It really is a 'must-see'.

Worth the weight

2008-11-30T20:58:00.005+13:00

I'm somewhat well-known for my stoic stance on a lot of things cycling related; "the rules" of bar tape matched with saddle colour, sunglass arms over helmet straps, only wearing Pro team kit if you're actually sponsored etc etc. But, as Josh is always eager to point out, some of my strongest beliefs have been turned on their head lately. Such as white bar tape.

Many months back, the angry vegetarian (not me, the shorter one) fitted a Gravity Dropper seatpost to his bike. I wasn't convinced that it was a worthy piece of equipment for our trails. After all, I'd been chided by Rad Ross that only wimps dropped their seats on descents, and as he'd been schooling me on every downhill on the island, I was inclined to believe him. So I poo-pooed the whole drop-the-post idea. A quick release is all you need, I would protest loudly, while stopping at the top of Deliverance as Josh rode off into the distance. When I'd finally join him at the bottom, and get off the bike, put the seat up, and maintain that light weight was more important than some fancy bloody telescoping contraption, he'd be getting the hell out of earshot and hitting the next climb. With the Makara Peak Rally (Tour de Peak option, ride all tracks in the park) coming up next weekend, I thought that maybe one of these useless contraptions may come in handy for the steep, technical trails like Vertigo and Trickle Falls. Before you could say "what are you doing", the angry vegetarian (not me, the faster one) had a Crank Brothers Joplin charged to my account and installed on the Stumpy. But I was still sceptical.

Then I rode with it.

How did I ever get by without one of these useful contraptions? Before I'd even got to any kind of serious drops, I was converted. It adds a whole new aspect to your riding. Just railing around a tight switchback can be made so much easier. Nudge the lever, weight the seat, and drop it a liitle or a lot. I found myself nudging that little lever almost as much as I was shifting gears. While it made all of the harder trails in the park a lot easier, it won't stop you from launching over the bars on rutted corners, unfortunately. (I think Rob might have to try one, after taking three or four spills, with the last on Trickle Falls being one of the biggest crashes I've ever had the horror/concern/eventual pleasure of witnessing). Or being gapped up the climbs. But it will bring you a new outlook on the ride, and allow you to ride faster, more efficiently and makes angry vegetarians a lot less angry.

Lost DJs must die

2008-11-21T22:43:00.007+13:00

There's a scourge on the streets. Well, there's many a scourge on the streets, but this one has particularly piqued my interest and stirred the pot of hate that wells inside me, brought bubbling to the surface of cynicism, congealing like a skin on a glass of milk curdling in the sun.

"Well what is it, Brett?" I hear you ask. "What could this travesty be?"

Let me tell ya. People walking around the streets wearing headphones. "Is that it?" Yep, that's it. Not just those little white iPod buds. No, even though they are still high on the wank-factor scale. It's the clowns who wear the full-size, made-for-djs or listening-at-home type headphones who really make me wonder if there is any hope for the future of the human race.

Good DJ

Why the f#@k do you need to be listening to music on your ten minute bus jouney, or the walk from the car to the office, or while going to buy your Starbucks 'coffee' and reading the latest issue of FHM? Because you're a wanker. You want others to look at you and think "wow, you look so cool, and I bet you're rockin some awesome tunes on those oversize cans... I want to be you". The only people thinking that are other wankers, probably sporting the miniature earbuds and suffering a chronic case of headphone envy.

Bad 'DJ'

Lost DJs. Walking the streets looking for their decks, wondering where the gig is. You're not a DJ. You're the downfall of modern society. Listen to your Nickelback, your Katy Perry, your f#@king Panic At The Disco while you step into the path of a bus. You won't be missed.

Ratas: King of the Old Guys

2008-11-18T22:01:00.005+13:00

Karl "Ratas" Ratahi. The man, the myth, the Maori mountain bike maven. Taking advantage of the lack of me in the PNP XC series, and despite the fact he was riding a bike a size too small, with a stuffed hub, a saddle made of iron, and a fork with more stiction than a toffee-apple dipped in honey, he still managed to take out the series for the over 40's (or Masters, if you don't want to be cruel to us old guys). "Check out my choice bling, eh bro!" Three seconds and a first in the four races, they call him Mr. Consistency. Nice work mate.
Ratas smashes it up the road at the start of Sunday's final race at Makara, watched closely by Matt, who tried his darndest to bury the big fella up Koru and Salley Alley, but was dished out a dose of Ratahi hurt up Aratihi.
God (Carl), Josh and Bryce form a Singletrack Colorado train, before God absconded and left the rest in his celestial wake, prompting questions of possible performance-enhancing drug usage.

12 hour image dump

2008-11-10T21:58:00.010+13:00

The Defense

2008-11-09T18:04:00.010+13:00

Twelve hours. A day at work is only eight. Why would you want to be doing something for twelve hours? Because you have to? No. Because it's fun? Maybe. I enjoy work, because it involves bikes. I like riding more, so twelve hours at a race should be fun... after all, I didn't have to ride the whole thing myself. I had three mates to share the pain and fun with me. And that's what my second Wild Wellington 12 hour race was; pain and fun. Last year I was on the winning 'Legends' team (a nice way of saying 'old codgers' I think) with Ian, one of the fastest and fittest fellas around these parts (these parts being the whole country), and Matt and Ant on the Searltech team. This year Ian and myself were riding for my employers team On Yer Bike, and with Steve and Rob (the LPG or Little Pommy Git) we had a pretty formidable line-up to go against our former teammates. Wellington turned on a perfect day weather-wise, with not a cloud in the sky, a light southerly to cool the air, which became a little chilly once the sun went down and the lights came out. The Hataitai velodrome was the epicentre of the course which wound its way up, down and around Mt Victoria. To have such a venue right in the middle of the city is amazing. Singletrack on your doorstep, and no long drive home after. In fact, nutters like Josh and God Carl rode to the race (but bummed a lift home after a BBQ and beer at the Ratahi camp). We sent Ian out as the starting rider, and after a mid -pack start he had worked his way to the front of our class by the end of the first lap. God was charging and led the entire field into the velodrome and set out on a second. Of course he was riding a totally inappropriate bike, this time a Trek Remedy, 30 lbs and 6 inches of travel, but at least it was the right size and he had it wound up. Rob headed out on his S-Works Stumpy for our second stint and kept us ahead of the Searletech guys by a couple of minutes. I was just kicking back and enjoying the sun in Camp On Yer Bike, as Steve readied himself for his laps. By the time he'd done his double, we were just behind as Matt and Ant had put in fast laps to double-team Steve as he faded a little on his second lap. I went out and tried to keep myself under control as the were still ten hours to go, but I caught Stephen halfway round, then held off Don on my second. Ian decided we needed a buffer, and opened up a four minute gap on his next set. We steadily built on our lead over the next couple of hours while socialising with the tight-knit Welly MTB community in between laps. Karl Rata's team was sitting in third, with Karl putting in his usual fast laps, but they just couldn't catch the second placed lads. Carl and Josh, meanwhile, were sitting in second overall and riding well, despite Josh complaining about a runny nose or something. Didn't stop him catching me on one lap and dropping me over the summit of the course though. We were up to third outright for a long time, battling with the R&R mixed team containing several National Junior guns (like Samara Shepperd, who I have to say I unmercifully dropped on the climb! A small victory but I'll take it...) Ian took it upon himself to bust out three back-to-back laps, with an 18.10, 18.12 and 18.11 in a row... awesome. Our win was virtually sealed after that, all we had to do was lap consistently and could even take it easy. Yeah right, Ian doesn't know how to back off, and kept smashing himself for the rest of the race, while we all kept our times in the 19-20 minute area. Ten O'clock couldn't come quick enough, and after many calculations we decided that we didn't need to get in a last lap, but would anyway to make it a lap back to second. Rob, who never rides at night, was the unlucky rider who was designate, after I'd offered but then retracted said offer when I got the unexpected acceptance of said offer. Sorry Rob, but you were the man for the job.The lap had to be completed by 10pm for it to be counted, and we waited at the finish as riders streamed through as the minutes ticked off. With about three minutes to spare, Rob charged in to the velodrome, pulling out a very quick night lap to seal the win. It was finally time for a beer, and Ratas fired up the barbie and the stories of the day were recounted under the stars of a clear, cool night at the end of a very coool day.

Pure, art

2008-11-04T22:21:00.006+13:00

The Koppenberg. A name synonymous with the Spring Classics, and Flanders in particular. Usually the famed cobbled climb is scaled on 23mm rubber at high speed, if you're lucky enough to be at the front of the great monument. If not, a slippery scramble, hard plastic cleats struggling for purchase on stones polished to a hard sheen over hundreds of years. A Belgian winter should be no time to add rain, mud and cyclocross bikes to the mix. Merde! It's exactly the right recipe for the hardest of the hardmen to shine, if they can under those many layers of filth. Bike racing stripped back to its barest bones, revealing the true heart and soul.
It is a good case for black bar tape though, yet being PRO, most still choose to rock the white, at least for a few minutes of the one hour of pain.

First it's black bar tape, then....

2008-10-30T22:01:00.000+13:00

this.

Caleb the Destroyer

2008-10-30T21:30:00.005+13:00

Well, he can't be called Conan, because we already have a Conan.... a courier who regularly trashes his steed. But SPOKE's main man is no shrinking violet when it comes to treating a bike badly. Today he trundled in with his Nomad in tow, and related a story of doing a track-stand at some traffic lights (he's a real wannabe fixie goon) and nearly getting ejected over the bars as his chain tried to extricate itself from the rings. This is the shocking evidence we found.... please remove any children from in front of the computer now. I've seen blunter teeth on a White Pointer. It's ok, he says, I've got a new crankset. Better remove the bottom bracket cups then...
Mmmm sludge.... there were tadpoles living in the BB shell, I swear.
Time for a new cassette as well. Of course, it was jammed solid on the freehub body. But where there's Hope... there's beer.
Speaking of SPOKE, the new issue will be out next week, the biggest one yet, with reviews, stories and stuff by Josh and myself amongst all the usual great writing and superb photography. Caleb may hate his bike, but he loves his magazine.

Rulez iz meantz to be broken (or Boyz in da Hudz)

2008-10-29T21:13:00.008+13:00

With the onset of spring (allegedly, haven't had much solid evidence of it as yet) the legs are bared, gloves lose the fingers, jackets are traded for lightweight vests, and bar tape changes colour. What? But didn't I say that "the rules are black and black only"? Ok, you got me there. But, as one Robert Zimmerman professed, the times they are a-changin. And so is my bar tape. And hoods. Or should I say, Hudz. [**Updated pics... I took out the gel pads under the tape and re-wrapped, resulting in less of a "bandaged" look as another sceptic pointed out..... who said mums don't know about cycling style?]
After the failed chrome tape experiment, it was back to black pretty quickly, with a day of white interspersed (it was my original tape, but had sticky crap on it and looked messy). But white is PRO, right? And the Euros swear by it. It's one of their rules.
18. Handlebar tape is required to be cork as well as being WHITE IN COLOUR. Bar tape will be kept in pristine white condition. This state shall be achieved either through daily cleansing or frequent replacement. These jobs will NEVER be performed by the cyclist as you must maintain your image. So, we'll see how long it lasts. I'm digging it so far, but sceptics say it'll be black within weeks. Said sceptics are also purchasing red Hudz as you read this....but staying with the black tape apparently. Now, if I can only get used to the white socks....
Your old road is
Rapidly agin'.
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin'.

It's all about balance

2008-10-24T21:22:00.011+13:00

I've forged many a fruitful friendship through cycling, and the benefits of some friendships can be pleasantly serendipitous (is that an oxymoron?). It's not what you know, but who you know sometimes. Magnus (real name Markus) is a German mountain biker and beer drinker who happens to work at the Downstage theatre here. He hooked me up for the amazing Strike show earlier in the year, and on Wednesday he offered me some tickets to the brilliant Adagio-Seriously Sophisticated Circus, and asked me to review it for the theatre's blog. As Mike always says, "it's all about the free stuff [for me]". Not all about it, but it's nice to receive as well as give, so a an hour's work for an hour's entertainment seems ok to me!

Magnus has a crazy accent, and I guess that the ticket office heard my name as this....

Now, I am Fred.

Still making a difference...

2008-10-24T20:06:00.002+13:00

The Pixies have always been at the top of my musical appreciation society. Their distinctive style, the forerunner of the soft/loud style, the simplicity of Kim Deal's basslines, the manic chops of Joey Santiago's guitar, and of course the gutteral shrieking and hollering of Black Francis, which still makes the hair on my arms (I'm quite bereft of it anywhere else these days) stand up and where there was once hair on my legs get "chicken skin".

Which is quite apt, after reading the exploits of Mr. Black recently. The man is a legend, and not only because of his huge influence on modern music, but also because he has thrown his weight behind PETA's 'Kentucky Fried Cruelty' campaign. Check out the story, sign the petition and then go listen to Surfer Rosa or Doolittle. You'll feel great on so many levels.

Good bike/bad bike

2008-10-21T21:26:00.003+13:00

Travis Brown is a pretty cool guy, from all accounts. He's been around mountain biking for a long time, and has been a driving force behind a lot of Trek's designs. This could be one of his best though, a belt-driven singlespeed 'crosser. Yep.
This, on the other hand, is just a steaming pile....

The beauty of 'cross

2008-10-20T11:17:00.007+13:00

Cyclocross would have to be the most photegenic of the cycling disciplines, and there are no better examples of great photography than over at pdxcross.com, a site based in Portland Oregon, concentrating mainly on US races and events. The black and white imagery is stunning, and has even the harshest of critics (i.e. Josh) addicted. Bask in the monochrome majesty. *Disclaimer: this pic is not from pdxcross, as the site doesn't allow photos to be copied, so I touched one up from another site. Don't tell anyone...

Meanwhile, on the other side of the pond (from the US that is), where 'cross was borne from the mud and snow by road pros who were tough enough to ride their skinny-tyred steeds in the worst of a European winter, the World Cup season has kicked off and there was a familar face at the top of the tree, but pushed all the way by the new star of the show.

Meeting my (egg) makers

2008-10-19T19:25:00.005+13:00

On our road loop out along the rural roads of Makara through to Johnsonville, I often noticed a sign at an entrance to a property advertising free-range eggs. "I must get some of those" I always thought, but never got around to it. My vegan friend Andrea had told me that the 'free-range' eggs available in supermarkets weren't always so cut and dried free-range, and you couldn't be sure that the chickens were actually leading a good life. I needed to be sure. So a trip was made today to check out the chooks. I met the owner of the property, Viv, who kindly showed me the chickens and how they live. They were some contented birds, letting me pat them and coming up to check me out. And the eggs are big and taste great, and at only $12 for 24, you can't go wrong.

What would you rather, this....

Or this...

Now, back to the bikes...

More Whaka'n photos

2008-10-14T18:53:00.007+13:00

Here's a few pics taken by Clare as we suffered our way around the Redwoods last weekend. Carl and Karl recovered well enough to take 1st and 2nd in their respective classes at the PNP race at Mt Vic on Sunday, while I decided bed was a better option.
Me climbing up to the start of the tortuous Direct Road climb. Actually this is not really a 'climb', but anything higher than an ants nest seemed like Ruapehu by this time.

God on the same climb, about 2 minutes ahead according to Clare as I yelled at her (well, puffed at her). Look how comfortable he looks on a bike that's too small and having his first and only ride on it. They don't call him God for nothing.

After the Direct Road climb we got to enjoy the Hot X Buns descent. And by 'enjoy', I mean get beaten to a pulp while hanging on for dear life.

Same corner, different line. Ratas railing it.

Damn, I hate my bike looking untidy. If I'd realised my number plate was crooked, I would've DNFed in shame.

Karl and I look suave and poised, as Carl throws his toys out of the cot and refuses to pose for the photo.... something about not having a cool blue outfit or a decent bike that fits.

Fuck the Chinese...

2008-10-13T21:20:00.006+13:00

...and any other low-life scum who thinks it's 'entertainment' to abuse animals and make them do shit like this. And this. Seems they don't give a fuck about human or animal rights. And then there's this piece of shit in Honduras.

If these stories make you feel sick to the stomach like they do me, do something about it. Sign the petitions, donate to one of the many great animal welfare organisations like WSPA, PETA or even your local RSPCA. And think about the process your steak or chicken or bacon went through to get to your plate. You wouldn't want your own pets to suffer, why should any other animal?

Now, back to the bikes...

*No cats were harmed in the making of this post. He loves to ride....

More news from Whaka

2008-10-06T18:32:00.006+13:00

*I've recovered really well from the pain of Saturday. Carl and I decided to wing it back to Welly after rain set in on Sunday and was forecast to continue Monday. Today was a beautiful day in Wellington, and a nice cruise around the bays on the road bike was just the tonic, for mind and body.

*The results are up. Karl and I equal 7th (Masters) in 6 hours 8 minutes, and God Carl was 15th in Open in 5:51.

*There was $1000 on the line for anyone finishing under 5 hours, and four freaks went under, with Scott Thorne winning the cash in an incredible 4:43! I can't imagine the pain they must've put themselves through to ride that fast for that long.

*There was also a grand for any woman to go under 5:45, and Annika Smail blitzed it with an amazing 5"07!

*Josh said he wouldn't have had any mercy on Karl if he was in my position, but all I would've gained was a few minutes and no places. I'm glad we finished together, but next time you're gone Ratas!

*All the 6am road rides through winter that Karl, Josh and I did really helped, not only with the physical side but mentally... dragging yourself out of bed in the pitch black and freezing cold really toughened us up.

*Karl said he "learnt a lot about himself" during the race. I can't remember what it was, but I learnt that suspension and gears are great inventions.

*Not that those SS freaks care, Garth Weinberg did a 5:03 (with a suspension fork) while Marcello did a 5:22 fully rigid (both on 29ers).

*The course marking arrows were emblazoned with Burger Fuel logos, and by the 80km mark I was craving a big lump of burnt cow. But I got over it.

Pain is temporary

2008-10-05T20:36:00.006+13:00

Well that wasn't so bad. The day started out early with a 6am wake up, having slept ok (Carl was happy that Josh's warning about me being a snorer didn't hold true) and we stuffed as much food down our throats as we could handle at that time. A ten minute 'warm-up' ride to the forest helped settle the nerves and then it was time to get it on. Karl and I decided we'd ride together as long as possible, and as we rolled out around the start loop of the field light rain started to fall, but apart from a few more spots a little later, nothing came of it. The race soon sorted itself out in the early singletrack, and no-one was too keen to go hard too early. Carl passed us about 5 km in, and we didn't see him until the feed at 60km. Meanwhile, me and Karl stuck together, riding with a little group around the lake, and keeping a steady pace up the first long climb. Karl got a little ahead of me as we neared the feed, and a slight stomach cramp was giving me a bit of grief as I rolled in, around 3 hours in. I was surprised to see Carl at the feed, he told me he'd only been there about 5 minutes, and Karl was having trouble with the early onset of leg cramps. I tried to eat a sandwich but the dryness defeated me, so it was more gel and a banana, rolling off to chase the other two who had scuppered off without me. Well, I didn't actually chase, sticking to my strategy of riding my own race and keeping a steady pace and finishing in one piece. The second half of the course, while shorter, had most of the climbing, and I was already suffering by the time I got to Frontal Lobotomy, usually easily doable in the middle ring, but this time crawled up in the granny. I was keeping the food and fluid up though, and the downhills and flats were welcome for a bit of a stretch and rest, knowing there were more huge climbs to come. I was dreading the grunt up Direct Road, planning on walking and eating and maybe taking a leak, but as I started it I felt not too bad, and picked off half a dozen riders by the top. Down Hot X Buns, held up by two 50km racers, then B Rude Not 2, when the left knee and right calf started to cramp up. This was about 80 odd km in, and a guy I'd been battling with most of the race passed me again and disappeared. When I got to the bottom of Katore Rd, I knew it was the last big climb, and I could see my nemesis ahead about 400 metres. I got into the granny again and got a good rhythm going, and I was catching him pretty quickly, passing him just before the top... what I didn't know was the trail from there kept climbing, to the highest point of the race at 92km. I put in a big effort in the middle ring over the short, sharp pinches and then kept driving down the other side, with him now out of sight. Coming around a corner on the rolling downhill, Karl was right there in front of me, going very slowly. I rode straight past him, trying to keep my momentum so the other guy wouldn't catch me. I thought "I'm gonna bury Karl too". Not nice, I know. He asked how I was feeling as I passed him, and I gave a short "good" as he told me he was in a bad way. He held onto my wheel as we descended at speed, telling me how glad he was to see me and that he might not have made it if I hadn't come along. A rare moment of compassion came over me, and I asked if he wanted to finish together or sprint it out or should I just drop him (I was feeling pretty good, knowing the end was only 5km away and 6 hours was within reach). We decided that finishing together would be the way to go, but there was still a bit of climbing to go, albeit a short road climb and a few little rollers... but Karl was cramping really badly, and was screaming like a banshee as his legs tried to lock up, much to the amusement/amazement of riders around us. I told him to just ride it out, we were almost there, and gave him my bottle of Cytomax mixed with CrampStop which had helped see off my own cramp attacks, which were still threatening to hit hard at any time. A little downhill, a corner, then there it was, the finish. We rolled across the line together, and I resisted the urge to put in a sneaky sprint! Six hours, give or take (results still not up, but my computer said about 5.58 at the finish, not including a 5ish minute stop.) Carl had finished about ten minutes ahead (and on a bike he'd only picked up the day before for a magazine test, which was the wrong size), so we'd done a bloody good race, and though we were cramping, aching and empty, we were happy with a great effort, and even managed to ride back to the motel, where a spa and beers helped ease the pain. Thanks to Clare for helping us out with the feeding and moral support on the course. More photos to come from Clare later....

The big mother-Whaka

2008-10-02T21:24:00.003+13:00

Off to Vegas tomorrow for the Whaka 100 (say the 'wh' like an 'f'). God will be my co-pilot, and Ratas and Clare are also along for the ride. Well, Clare will be doing the cooking and cleaning, according to Ratas. It's going to be a big, long, painful day on some of the best trails in the country, but somehow I think the enjoyment factor might be overshadowed by basic survival instincts. Hopefully I'll look a bit better than this at the end.... My money says I'll look worse... much, much worse.

WOWFOB

2008-09-30T19:02:00.004+13:00

I'm not backwards in coming forwards in the fact that I can't stomach The Shaman Pharmstrong. You'd have to have been living under a rock to not realise that.

So I was more than a little peeved to see that he planned to commence his money-spinning mission, er, I mean comeback, at the Tour Down Under in January. But it looks like we might be able to keep our race unadultarated because of the UCI's anti-doping rules which state that a rider making a feeble attempt to 'clear' his name, er, I mean comeback, has to be registered in their testing program for the 6 months prior to their publicity stunt, er, I mean comeback.
I'm not alone in my distaste for Pharmstrong's pathetic attempt at false credibility, er, I mean comeback. Here's some Words Of Wisdom From Other Blogs courtesy of the always entertaining Drunk Cyclist...

"There has been a lot of talk, on this site and others, about Lance Armstrong’s return to the pro peloton, his “transparent’ comeback, and what it will prove.

It will prove nothing.

The problem is this: testing Mr. Armstrong heavily during his comeback will not, does not, and cannot answer the question at hand - did he dope? It is a logical fallacy to test him in 2009, not find evidence of doping, and proclaim he has been clean throughout his entire career.

If I go into a Basha’s supermarket tomorrow and walk out with nothing other than the merchandise I paid for at the cash register, it does not mean I have never shoplifted from that store at any point in my life. I could have stolen something last week. Or, at some point today. It would demonstrate only that I did not steal on that particular visit to that particular store.

Mr. Armstrong’s openness to testing during his ‘09 comeback does not answer the question of his 1999 Tour performance against a doped field with blood later shown [with modern testing] to indicate the use of EPO. It does not answer the question of his association with Michele Ferrari. It does not answer the question of his teammates on Motorola & US Postal admitting their own EPO use. In short, it doesn’t answer any of the relevant questions surrounding Mr. Armstrong’s cycling career.

It can only show, at best, that he ran it clean for a few months in 2009 when his best years were far behind him."

And here's the inimitable BikeSnobNYC's take on Pharmstrong's 'performance' at CrossVegas last week.

Vege not vegan

2008-09-24T20:08:00.003+12:00

There are just some things I can't get my head around. Soy cheese is one of them. Life without chocolate is another (though only on muesli bars). And eggs have got to stay (strictly free-range of course). So I'm a vegetarian, not a vegan. Every other choice has been easy, but the clincher for retaining a little cheese would have to be this....

Ego-testical

2008-09-22T21:07:00.002+12:00

Not content with making a comeback that no-one wants to see, The Shaman (aka Pharmstrong on some other blogs) now wants to not only turn the world's greatest sporting event into another bore-fest, but he wants to buy the whole shebang. I suppose you can't be not invited or thrown out of your 'own' race...

But where will the money come from? Why not siphon it off the top of your charity organisation ? (It seems Ron over at cozybeehive isn't impressed either.)

The world could be in trouble

2008-09-18T20:06:00.008+12:00

even more than it is now if the Republicans take office in the US elections. And knowing how the redneck right is prevalent over there, it could be a reality that a God-fearing, gun-toting, pro-life (Bill Hicks tells it like it is) self-professed "hockey mum" could have her trigger finger on the button to WWIII. It's scary. At least some Americans can see the danger.... Jon Stewart (and Stephen Colbert) know what's goin on. Small town mentality... so scary it's funny, so funny it's scary. (Ya gotta love the gay dude who hates gays!)

And while Pamela Anderson may be known as just a pair of tits, she is a hardcore animal activist and does great work for PETA. She also can see through the Palin smokescreen. New-found respect for you, Pam. And on the subject of animal rights etc, I've finally taken the extra steps to vegetarianism bordering on veganism. I've tried it before with varying results, but this time I'm giving it a real shot. After all, I've been supporting and contributing to WSPA for more than ten years, so I thought it a bit hypocritical to be eating animal products and be contributing to cruelty and environmental issues. I didn't eat much meat anyway, so it wasn't a big thing really... but cutting out milk and dairy was more of a challenge, but one I've found pretty easy too. Rice and soy milk both taste great and soy yoghurt is just the same. Soy cheese isn't as bad as I thought it would be, and I only use it for pizzas anyway. Tempeh is a real find. Thanks to my good friend Andrea for the inspiration and tips. My diet is probably better now because I look for protein-rich foods and eat more fruit, nuts and vegetables than before. Chips and chocolate have been replaced by roasted chick peas, dates, raisins, pumpkin seeds, currants, nuts. I'm feeling good, and my conscience does too. As for effecting my riding, no problem, I'm actually finishing long rides stronger, and am hacking up less, something my riding buddies no doubt appreciate. Organic Athlete has heaps of good info on fueling up, something I'm gonna need lots of for this race in a couple of weeks.

Caleb compensates

2008-09-15T10:45:00.004+12:00

He hasn't got a track bike, but maybe Caleb had 'chainring envy' when he put this 800mm wide bar on his Nomad. Or was it because he has delusions that he's a 6'4", 110kg version of Sam Blenkinsop? But he did chop it down to a not-as-insane-but-still-tree-grabbing 760mm....

Jesus!

2008-09-14T23:35:00.005+12:00

Who said Ska and mindless false prophet worshipping don't mix? (with a nod to the bummer life for the heads up...)

The lyrics are eerily prophetic though, especially the lines "Jesus came and found me, he touched me down inside.... he is like a mountie, he always gets his man".... do they mean like this?

Back in black (and white)

2008-09-13T21:33:00.019+12:00

I've been a Mac user for a long time. When I arrived in NZ, I didn't know how long I'd be here, so I used internet cafes and then my work computer to do my blogging and writing. Windows machines of course.

I thought I'd put up with it until I could get my iMac sent over. I survived until a few weeks ago when I decided a laptop would be the way to go, and thinking more about money than performance I bought a Dell unit.
Great value, plenty of power. But I just couldn't get my head around it as my own computer, not having a happy time with Vista, and now I sit here typing away on a new MacBook. I'm back in a Mac in black, and I'm not going back.
Something else I've spent some coin on recently was some gear from rapha, a couple of fixed t-shirts and this beautiful work of art, the Rouleur photo annual.

Images of the very best quality, which take a look at cycling like you've never seen it before. Stunning black and whites and colour shots, revealing the grit and sweat of the road, the track and cyclocross. Inspiring, makes you want to pull on a wool jersey and ride past an old church.

Say it ain't so

2008-09-10T08:19:00.011+12:00

Not content with having ruined the world's greatest sporting event as a spectacle for seven years, the serial blonde-stalking, water wasting, animal-hating asshole The Shaman is rumoured to be returning to throw his weight around in the peleton again next year. And with which team? Well, the one with the best drug program, of course. Geez, why not get Hamilton, Landis, Heras, Basso and all his other doper cronies back as well and form 'Team Top Fuel, Powered by Excuses'. I just threw up in my mouth a little. And I'm not alone.

The Compensator

2008-09-07T17:53:00.005+12:00

Readers of the SSSS blog will have noticed that Josh has a track bike now. Bets are on as to how long before it shows up on TradeMe. But in the meantime, as is his wont, it's undergone component changes before a pedal is turned in anger (and yes, there is anger). One of the upgrades he's made is to swap out the 'piddly' 48 tooth ring for this 52t monster. Like wearing a too-small t-shirt to show off your 'guns', or driving a big 4WD or V8 car. You know what they say; big chainring....

WOWFOB 3... wheelin and dealin

2008-09-04T23:16:00.004+12:00

What is it about a bike shop that implores customers to believe it is their God-given right to ask for, or even demand, a discount on their purchase? It's frustrating to be put in such a position constantly. I'd feel embarrassed if I got to the supermarket checkout and profered "can you chuck in the milk for free?" or "how about a dollar off the bread?"... "any better price for cash? I shop here all the time, I must've bought 200 loaves off you over the years."

Todays Words Of Wisdom From Other Blogs comes from Bike Hugger.

Hi. Thanks for coming into my shop and taking part of the consumer experience. Your disposable income is the sole source of our meager profit margins that support the shop’s overhead and indirectly my income.

What’s that? You’d like to ask me a bunch of questions? Why sure, I’d love to take time away from the other tasks that would have had priority over your whimsical visit, after all, I am a living reference free of charge.

No, no, no, you cannot combine that esoteric and ridiculous component with your current bike without making substantially difficult to explain modifications to the entire system. I am going to explain this to you, so please interrupt me repeatedly.

Pardon me? You know a guy whose friend is a hunchbacked transvestite who used to work on bikes in Walmart…and he/she said it would work? My goodness, then I must be wrong! What qualifications could I possibly have…other than a decade of bike shop employment…to refute such gospel?

Yes, I can get the proper part for this amount of money. Why does it cost so much? I am so glad you asked! Let me take a sip of Pepsi before I explain economic theory, supply/demand, the relationship of production volume and unit cost, the….oh,oh, I see now, that was a rhetorical question! A verbal exercise to inspire an epiphany within me! How thoughtful of you….and here I thought I was the one enlightening you.

Oh, I see where the confusion lies… you were looking at the price in the distributors’s catalog I provided so that you could see a picture of the product. Ah yes, that price is what we in the retail industry call “wholesale”. It’s what we pay, and then we make you pay what is called “retail price”, which is Latin for “it’s how a f$%^%ing store can afford to exist.”

Okay, so for today you will take just these Sidi shoes and a set of Speedplay pedals, and instead will order the part I spent the last 30 minutes explaining from mail order. Splendid!

What’s that? Can you have a “bro deal”? Why yes, since you ask for it like that I would be more than happy to violate the trust of my employer and offer these items to you at a fee that entirely denies my employer of any benefit of the wages they pay me for the time I spent answering your tedious questions. After all, if I get no benefit from this transaction, neither should they. I mean, what are brothers for? I am sure I could go to your dental office next week and ask for a “bro deal” on that root canal and crown…or maybe you work in city development and you could…like develop a…um, road for me…or something.

You know, “Brother”, I don’t really know what it is that you do…but chances are it’s nothing that I can cash in on. But never mind about that. I will offer you it for this price.

Excuse me? Such-and-such-a-company is offering it online for less than my bro deal? Alright, asswipe, I’m gonna call your bluff right now. I know for a fact that you are wrong. You think I don’t know how to use the internet? You think you’re gonna school me on the bicycle industry? Those companies have internet sales agreements, you cannot beat the offer I set in front of you. And when I offer you a bro deal, you may accept or decline, but you better keep your mouth shut unless it is to say “thank you.” One more word, and the price goes back up 10%…..yeah, keep whining…okay, now it’s “full retail” again.

You’re welcome…..”Bro”

You do it to yourself

2008-09-03T22:52:00.002+12:00

and that's what really hurts. Heard this on the (crappy) radio today and got the shivers as normal when Radiohead fills my senses, and thought about this brilliant video. Any lip readers?

WOWFOB 2 - Locked and loaded

2008-08-29T22:32:00.010+12:00

Todays Words Of Wisdom From Other Blogs is courtesy of drunkcyclist.com

"14 scheduled repairs at 10am. Walk in, try to take it in stride. First custy I help shows the dim bulb response. After minutes of contemplation over combos or keyed locks, he brings up the key version and asks, can you open this so I can test it out?”

I knew the day was on the downhill from there.

11am, 15 repairs. One snuck in from behind. Lucky me, shop hack, and the only one on for the day. I snapped the lock out of its package with a blank stare and slid it over the counter. I walked into the back of the shop where I just stood for a moment in an attempt to regain my Zen. Things aren’t hard here. U-locks, cables, keys or combos. You need to make a choice. Need education? OK, here it is:

Combos have numbers. Keys have keys. Which one are you most likely to remember?
U-locks are stronger. Heavier. Limited on what they can lock to.
Cables. lighter. Easier to cut, but lock to almost anything reasonable.
What bling factor does your bike have? How much do you love it?

It’s not a hard choice. All seems obvious. Maybe I’m too close to the fire though. I Walked back out, and sure enough, the “test” worked. The lock opened when he turned the key. Sold."

I think anyone who has worked in a bike shop has had their own version of this very customer. And when you get one, you just want to demonstrate the locks by tightly securing it around their necks and saying "pretty secure eh? Can you open that? No?"
Then there's the YJA 'buyer'. "I need a high-visibility jacket." Oh, a YJA! "Huh?" Nevermind. We have several brands, styles and prices. Vest or sleeves. They try on every one. "Ok, I'll have a think about it." What's there to think about? It's a YJA! Use your A and buy the damn YJ! And you just know they're repeating the whole procedure at the next shop, and the next. Maybe we can introduce YJA testing, where we put them on a bike and drive a car at them to see if they really are visible...

WOWFOB

2008-08-29T22:15:00.013+12:00

It stands for 'Words Of Wisdom From Other Blogs.' The first instalment comes from SlowYourRoll...

1. Thou shall not refer to your bike as "she", "he", or any other mortal name.

2. Thou shall not repaint or intentionally mar, befoul, or abominate any bicycle. ("Thus triathletes are resigned to a fate of eternal suffering and gnashing of teeth" - Gino Bartali)

3. Thou shall only lift your bicycle over your head for the purpose of storage or to throw it. Posing for pictures, or cheesing it up with tacky exhibitions of exhilaration are forbidden.

4. Thou shall not buy a wonder bike and brag about it at parties while it sits in a perpetual state of immobility.

5. Thou shall not bother thy mechanic or frame builder with lame, inept, uninformed, obnoxious, absurd, and depraved ideas on how to do his job.

6. Thou shall not seriously compare any rider to Eddy Merckx or Fausto Coppi.

7. Thou shall learn to fix thine own flats, oil thy chain, and learn to accept some dirt under thy fingernails.

8. Thou shall know when to replace thy steed and retire thy parts.

9. Thou shall tow the line of respect and not give in to the primordial wonts of lust and worship of exquisite bicycle frames and parts.

10. Thou shall not invest more time into reading, writing, buying, talking about, tinkering with, and otherwise stroking the bicycle than actually riding it.

Gee, the last one's a tough one.... If one has total bike addiction, then it's almost impossible to honour such a creed. One may ride for three or four hours, then spend another five surfing the net, reading a mag, writing articles for magazines, blogging, and cleaning/adjusting/maintaining. What if you work in the industry? You'd have to ride a hell of a lot, or not do any of the other things at all for number 10 to be feasible. I'm calling 'no dice' on the last one.

While I'm feeling bookish....

2008-08-29T18:55:00.006+12:00

It's great how words can inspire. If the words are pertaining to inspirational people, events or actions, then the inspirometer can sometimes go off the scale. Some may be inspired to levels that could be seen as biting off more than they can chew, or at least finding whatever it is they are chewing quite difficult to swallow. Like eating a dry SAO biscuit; you know it can be done, it looks easy on paper, but once you get started the little bugger starts resisting, and what should've been over without incident is suddenly a struggle against a much tougher opponent than you'd bargained for. The story of Harry Watson, a.k.a. The Mile Eater has potentially caused the 'D.S.E.' (Dry SAO Effect) in the one they call Mini Me. Well I call him that, others aren't so kind. You see, old Harry was a pioneer of road cycling in Aotearoa in the 20's and 30's, when men were men and derailleurs were, well, they weren't. Harry thought nothing of riding his fixie, usually in a gear that Mike couldn't even count to, let alone push up Brooklyn Hill, for hundreds of kilometres on nasty dirt roads over hideous passes, and became the first Kiwi to ride in Le Tour, when the drugs of choice were more social than performance-enhancing. So 160km around Lake Taupo on a fixie (with the luxury of brakes, no less) should be a doddle, right? Cue the sound of teeth gnashing and lips smacking over a claggy paste while hands grasp desperately for a full bidon, legs spinning uncontrollably, begging for the motion to cease for at least one descent. Good luck Mikey.

Reading, writing, riding

2008-08-26T22:54:00.010+12:00

It's all I seem to do. I get up, sometimes at ridiculous hours a couple of days of the week, go riding in the cold, come home and have breakfast, get on another bike and ride to work, where I fix, build and sell bikes all day, usually reading about bike news on the internet at lunchtime, ride home, eat, watch a little TV (hopefully something bike-related; hell, I've even been known to watch triathlons, though that's not really cycling, is it?), surf my favourite bike sites, then crawl into bed with a magazine and/or book (and you guessed it, not the Women's Weekly or a spy novel). What the hell is wrong with me? Oh, just a little matter of BIKE ADDICTION! When I've ridden the ride, thought about the ride and read about the ride, I'll write about it, either here or for a magazine. I've found myself kissing girlfriends and looking over their shoulder to admire my road bike sitting in the corner of the room. And I don't think it's abnormal in any way. I've found my passion, well I think it probably found me (at an early age) and damned if I'm gonna let this love die. What's this got to do with this book? Not that much really, but it's been the object of my nightcap readings for the last couple of weeks. I've tried to read it once before, back in Aus, but didn't get through it before I moved to NZ. A friend here loaned me a copy that someone had loaned to them, and now I've finally got to the finish line, along with messrs Krabbe, Reilhan, Lebusque et al. And I feel like I've covered every kilometre of the Tour de Mont Aigoual, a fly on the handlebar, if you will. I'll leave the last word to Donald Antrim.

"To say that the race is the metaphor for life is to miss the point. The race is everything. It obliterates whatever isn't racing. Life is the metaphor for the race."

Another Tim Krabbe gem of writing....

Beer of the season

2008-08-26T22:16:00.008+12:00

I recently wrote in my SPOKE magazine column the joys of riding in a New Zealand winter. While I employed a fair bit of 'artistic licence', most of what I wrote was from the heart, or at least the mind. One of the plusses I extolled was "a warm drink and a tot of rum" after returning from a winter night ride. I can't remember the last time, if ever, I've enjoyed a tot of rum after a ride. What I do like though, is a beer. And this one is made for such an occasion. Monteiths released this little beauty a couple of months ago now, with free pints being passed out at the Occidental Hotel in Welly. Unfortunately I arrived too late to sample it without handing over my coin, but I liked what I imbibed. I never gave the Doppelbock Winter Ale another thought until Saturday afternoon, when offered one by my champion landlady Noeline while her champion partner Roman kindly set up my new laptop's internet connection. As a gesture of thanks, I sought out a sixer for him the next day. Imagine my serendipitous delight when I found the last two sixers at Woolworths, for ten bucks each! After downing a couple while watching another frustrating performance by the Phoenix, I felt somewhat lightheaded and not overly concerned that the team contains the world's only Brazillian with absolutely no football skills whatsoever. Glancing at the bottle, I saw the explanation, albeit in a blurred font; 6%. I think I had another one after that. Mmmmmmalty.

Flandrian

2008-08-26T19:10:00.009+12:00

Flandrian. While it's real definition is a lot more complex than I'd ever imagined, it's a word that is bandied about frequently here in relation to weather matters far less serious. If it's bucketing down, a stiff breeze blowing or the air has that frosty bite to it, we are inclined to state "it's a bit Flandrian out there". Of course the image of 'Flandrian' we conjure in our minds is something like this: The hardmen of Belgium, from the region of Flanders in particular, slogging it out for hours on end in the harsh northern climes, eating mouthfuls of mud mixed with animal waste from the ancient farm 'roads', surfaces which were never intended for fragile bicycle wheels to traverse, but rather wooden cart wheels to be dragged along by cloven hooves. We wish we could be as resilient as the Flemish, but concede that if the weather is any more inclement than which we rode in last weekend, when only a light rain jacket is required, the roads get no bumpier than a layer of gravel on top of the hot-mix and the tips of our ears are easily warmed by a cotton cap, alas the spirit of Tchmil, De Vlaeminck or Van Petegem will not be invoked. To paraphrase Fugazi, Flandrian is just a word, but I use it.

*While you may say "but Tchmil was Russian", he embraced the Spring Classics and extolled the Belgian hardman ethos so passionately that he became one of them. "People are cynical when I talk about Belgium. They think I'm only Belgian on paper. That is not true. Yes, I was a Russian, even a proud one.... Now I am proud to be Belgian."

Showtime

2008-08-25T20:53:00.006+12:00

Last week Josh and I plus Simon and Matt from our Paraparaumu store got to fly up to Auckland for the day to check out the 2009 Avanti and Specialized ranges. After sitting through some interesting and then sleep-inducing presentations we got to check out the new bikes and bits. With the NZ dollar suffering and the world economy not much better, the trend is for higher prices for all bikes, from the low-end right up to the stuff we all love to drool over. Roubaix SL2. Inspired by Boonen's win in the Queen Of The Classics this year, it's lighter, stiffer and will require you to sell your first-born to be able to afford it. Handy if you're a doctor, you could sell someone else's baby or maybe just offload some kidneys.
Tarmac SL2. As with the Roubaix, comes with your choice of Shimano, SRAM or Campy groupset (in un-necessary 11 speed no less!). And no chain and a really poorly adjusted saddle by the look of it.
S-Works Epic, already a World Championship winner but lost a lot of cred with a paltry 4th place at the Olympics. No-one will want one now.
DT Swiss carbon fork and wheelset. So light that you can't actually ride them at all, but when they look that good, who cares?
S-Works Stumpy. There's more carbon Stumpys than there are alloy models this year, proving that aluminium is the steel of the 00's.... destined for the history books and small boutique framebuilders. Yeah right.
My favourite bike of the show. Good old Tricross Singlecross. Unchanged except for the paintjob, it is simplicity and a super-niche portion of the market that only 16 people in the world will appreciate. More singlespeed goodies over at SSSS.

Spot the difference

2008-08-23T23:29:00.001+12:00

Somewhere on my Roubaix, I've carefully hidden a new bit of bike-bling. Can you find it?

Join the fight

2008-08-20T13:13:00.002+12:00

Bike Snob NYC is on a mission; to rid the streets (of NYC, and now the world) of mobile phone-weilding drivers. We're not averse to this scourge here in NZ either, but maybe instead of Patrick Bateman-types, the offenders might look more like this...