Puncturised

I got a puncture on Tuesday night. Luckily, I was doing laps of a circuit around the local area, which I do so that it is not too far from home in the event of well, a puncture. Because of this, I ride light with no spare tube in my pocket or pump on the frame.

I went a round a sharp corner, which is pretty much a U-turn and found myself sliding sideways down the slope at the back wheel so I pulled-over and there it was. The good thing was, I was at the actual farthest point from my apartment, about 4km, so I hoisted the frame onto my shoulder and started off on the trudge home. After about 300m, I thought 'bollocks' and decided to call it in and wait for the support car to arrive.

Later, I checked-out types of punctures on Sheldon Brown's website and it seems that had a twin-hole 'snake bite' type, which is apparantly typical of an under-inflated tyre hitting a stone. So I learned something new yesterday.

Afterwards, I made some hotdogs.

New shirt to the test

Luckily, Atsushi’s weather report did not forecast rain on Friday so I joined him and John for a ride again. This week another of John’s friends was there, too. We will call him Dr. Mitsura PHD, general practitioner of medicine. So if any of us was ever going to crash badly, that was the night to do it (except for Mitsura, of course).

This Friday was the night of pseudo-classification outfits- I showed up in my brand spanking new second-hand maillot jaune, which I picked-up for 945 yen.

Sporting a rather lovely white and red polka dot cap, was Atsushi. Unlike me, he justified his with a fine display of uphill riding to cement his position as king of the mountains.

John, on the other hand, proved himself to be to be king of the socks.

On the left we can see the bike line-up. The picture is not clear, obviously but I think that, more importantly, it captures something of the the mood of the ride, time and place.

We can also see a close-up of Atsushi's machine here. Note the black leather pedophile-style gloves, which he mistakenly thinks resemble sniper ones. Perhaps we can find him some that are a little more 'him'.

Anyway, we had a good old session, got to shout at a few dickheads (ie- people who are not us) and Mitsura, ironically the only one of us not wearing a helmet, clocked in a whopping 43.2 kmph on the final sprint to take the glory and cause all the excited girls to gasp “And he’s a doctor?!”.

Worrying moment

Thanks to the internet, I was able to watch stage 15 of the TdF live on ITV with my dear ol' mum, despite being on the opposite ends of the globe.
My mum was really into it but I was a bit concerned when she was cheering on the riders during the commercial break. She had apparantly mistaken a Halfords advert for the race coverage.

Part of me would love to leave such a wonderful ahh-such-a-sweet-little-mumma anecdote there but it was shortly after that that we realised that my 'live' stream was about 30 seconds behind the terrestrial broadcast. So it turned out that my mum was not as dozy a fool as was temporarily suspected.
For now.

Below: Le Tour and le Halfords commercial... but which is which?

Enter The Friday Night Ride

I do not want to give out info about other people so I will hide their identities by using the common names John and Atsushi.
John and Atsushi are quite close so when they invited me to join them on their weekly Friday night ride, I was relieved that they were talking about cycling.

They have been riding this course together once a week for about 2.5 years now so to expect distrust towards me as an outsider was natural. They had a slight tiff at the beginning of the evening and Atsushi threathened to boycott the ride due to potential 'rain' (that never arrived) so I wondered if it was just bitchiness aimed at my presence or whether he was refering to the inevitable tears that would be present during their kiss-and-make-up-embrace.

Anyway, we rode the circuit several times and I will see if I can nick the map of it from John's blog at some point. John is a fairly big bloke and Atsushi pretty small so from the view of riding behind them, it looked like some old Lord chasing down his unwilling houseboy. Naturally, this also caused me to get the Benny Hill theme tune stuck in my head.

The Lord has been into riding for a few years now and has embraced cycling's cultural aspects, such as garish, tight shirts and a healthy disdain for trendy fixed-gear bikes and those who stradle them. It comes as a surprise then that he actually rides a bright yellow fixie himself. But it is different, he says, it is a track bike, he says and he did not get it because a magazine told him it was cool, he says (which, of course, is all true). Oh, yeah, and we must not call the bike yellow, either.

Anyway, I went over again on the Friday just gone but this time it really was rain-stopped-play so we just drunk beer, talked bollocks and watched the TdF instead. The rain was severe, too- I think we counted, at minimum, 7 or 8 rain drops hit our skin. Come to think of it, that may have been the splashback from John taking a leak against his front wall.

Buses, sideways

If I was cycling in London or thereabouts, and a car slowed right down and sat on my arse even though there was a ton of space, I would naturally assume that there was a fair chance that some dickhead gazza was going to roll his window down and impress his mates by throwing something at me.
Here, however, people who want to deliberately be dickheads just floor it past you getting as close as they possibly can or just pretend that they did not see you or some other stupid passive-aggressive crap.

Generally, when people do the sit-on-your-arse thing here, it is because they are nervous of passing a cyclist. Let me point out that, generally, there is nervous, very nervous, then there is fantastically nervous, and at the top of the scale there is Japanese nervous.

It is very common to have an unconfident driver straddling you when, in another place on another day, buses would be safely wheel-spinning and skidding sideways through the same size space. Tanks have also been known to do the same thing, and sometimes trucks, too.

I often fantasise that they are actually trying their best to get past me but cannot keep-up with my advanced maneuvering. I look back and think things like "Yeah? Is that all you got, baby?" and I feel like that bloke in the first scene of Quicksilver when he races the taxi with Kevin Bacon in.

Thankfully, when I get out into the windy Kanagawa countryside, I can get off of the main roads and then I only have chainsaw-swinging farmers to contend with.

Cavendish Fever at La Tour

So the 'Manx Missile', Mark Cavendish, followed up his stage 2 win in Brignoles by taking another comfortable sprint finish in La Grand-Motte to still hang on to the Maillot Vert after stage 3.

My mate asked me a few months back what 'Manx' meant. I told him that it was someone from Manchester. He disputed this by pointing out that Cavendish is from the Isle of Man so I had to tell him more firmly that he was wrong. Within seconds we were in a schoolboy roll-up, red-faced and headlocked and I proved I was right by pinning his arms with my knees. "I can't breathe! I can't breathe!" he screamed.

Anyway, a quick Wiki search later and I rediscovered some lost knowledge that 'Manx' does indeed refer to that which hails from the Isle of Man.
Anyway, the next time I saw him, I let my mate know that I could not believe that he did not even know that!

(Below) Stage 2 finale: Monaco>>Brignoles



(Below) Stage 3 finale: Marseilles>>La Grande-Motte

London to Brighton 2009

So I just randomly noticed that the British Heart Foundation's annual London to Brighton bicycle ride (not race) took place yesterday, apparantly.
27,000 bicycles covering a 54 mile route for chaah-ridy and it seems that the wacksters were out in force, as expected.

I forgot that this thing even happened and I suppose it is a bit of an event and a day-out for pissed-up, drugged-up day-trippers and families in UK's gay/ hedonism capital.
By the time the stragglers roll in after about 6 hours, there are a lot of people with rashed groins and sore butts around that beach... (here it comes)... and that is not even including the cyclists.

Well, it looks like the sun was shining on the day so I guess that it was a good laugh for those who took part, dressed-up in their splendid wacked-out attire or just went along to get plastered and laugh at others' misfortunes.
Apparantly, the Barnum-inspired Sir Wacky 'He's a Joker' McWackster (above left) raised over nine-pound-fifty all by himself- that is a penny for each time he honked his horn on the ride.
And it seems that, since its inception in 1980, the total raised is over 46 million nicker, too, which is almost as much as the West Pier rentboys. For chaaah-riddy, nonetheless.

Mamachari + Sake= ?

Once you get a few kilometres out into the Kanagawa countryside a whole local culture becomes apparant in the shape of drunk old men weaving their way from side to side along the narrow riverside pavement on basket-fronted roadsters, or mamachari as those kinds of bikes are known here.
Being totally indifferent to the existance of other human beings and cyclists on the same path, they require real skill and timing to negotiate your way past (pause for a quick self-congratulatary pat on the back). It reminds me of one of the levels on the Treasure Island computer game for my old Spectrum, where you (Jim Hawkin) have to cross to the other side of the road without being hit by 4 or 5 Blind Pews. Glowing mauve, epileptic, super-fast, killer walking-stick wielding Blind Pews as opposed to the easily beatable, frail old git (albeit scary as fuck to young Jim m'lad) that he was in the novel.

So, just as I was cycling into the gateway to this sector, one of the said gentlemen was coming straight for me, One Cup Ozeki sake in hand, knees tuned outwards, heels on pedals, dominating the centre of the path and aggressively waving me to move even more to the left than I was, as if I was being out of order by not giving him the whole thing. I managed to outfox him and was through to the other side, when I noticed a crowd of people standing around just up ahead.

Another oldish man was laying on the ground next to his mamachari with some impressive looking road-rash on his cheek and arm and a face-full of surprise. I noticed this as I slowed up to get a good look at what was going on, despite the people crouched next to him inconveniently obscuring my view slightly. In races, cyclists do not stop for fallen cyclists and I did not either, justifying this to myself with ease after a brief assesment.
He seemed OK, his helpers were trying to convince him to stay on the ground and ambulances are freely used here for anything, more like a taxi to the hospital or as a mobile band-aid changing service so there was not much left for me to do.
Then, seriously contemplating going back to take a quick photo, I sailed past a group of around 10 nattering dog-walkers who were waiting for the ambulance next to the road. At least that is what I assume they were doing.
I am going to hell.

Shiney and safe (Part Deux)

The super power of the light in the last post's main purpose is to guide my way around divits, stones, white dog-poo, etc. when cycling along the pitch black river and the like. However, when it comes to real safety, the kind of life-saving safety that will save your life and keep you safe safeness, the real hero is the red light which sits on the post under your bum.

Using the birthday money I got from my mum, I splashed out and picked up the absolute top of the range Cateye red light for 3,654 yen. I really do not mind opening up the coffers for decent lights because it is a good investment, looking after my life is.
It has 2 buttons for 2 separate rows of LEDs, 4 modes, including a Knight Rider side to side flash, includes LEDs on the side and is pretty much impossible to miss, at all angles, from miles away. To quote a mate of mine, if a car hits you when you are using this light, they are trying to kill you.
*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:Thanks for keeping me safe, mum!*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:

Shiney and safe (Part 1)

When I drive my car at night, it always hits me when I pass a cyclist who has no light on his/ her bike. It always hits me at just how invisible they are and how they seem so nonchalant about this. Occasionally, I will roll down the window and inform them of the danger but I have yet to be thanked for my generous act of altruism. To be fair, though, not all of them ignore me on purpose- some of them are just too ingrosed in listening to their iPod or checking their phone to notice.

Anyway, I decided to upgrade my lights. The first one I bought was one for the front for 2600 yen. The RRP was 3300 yen, so I got a good deal and it is bloody powerful. Now I am worried that it might be too powerful- "Your honour, I only hit the cyclist because I was blinded by his search-beam and ploughed across two lanes of traffic".

So, post purchase, I got back to my bicycle at the parking place, tore open the packaging and put 2 (included) batteries into the light, clipped it shut, pressed the button and watched as nothing happened. I opened it up, fiddled around a bit more but, alas, bugger all. The rage built within me and I strode back to the shop, ready to smash the place up with my curses. This was the second time that they had screwed me with a faulty item (that is another story) and I had had enough. I found that the shop was closed by then so I power-walked back to my bike, ready to melt anyone who did not move from my path. I gave it another go and this time noticed that there were actually 4 slots for batteries, which meant that the 2 spare ones in the pack were not actually spare at all.
It was fortunate that the shop had been closed.

"The Rider"- Book Review

So I read this book recently after my mate forcibly lent it to me. The story, translated from the original Dutch text, is written from a first-person perspective and the protagonist is called Tim Krabbe, which, funnily enough, is also the name of the author. How queer.
So it is refreshingly unclear whether we are reading fiction or a real-life memoir as we sit, stand, pedal, sweat, grimace, pant, spit, blister, get chafing etc. etc. in tandam with Krabbe, soley through 137km of bicycle racing.

It was written and set in the late 70's but it is hard to remember that as, while bikes would be less shiney, socks would be pulled up and shirts would be heavier and made of old potato sacks or whatever, not too much would be different about the sitting, standing, pedaling, sweating, grimacing, panting, spitting, blistering, chafing, etc. etc.

The characters, the other racers, are well drawn and familiar enough that we can imagine racing against friends, family, bosses, shitheads we know, etc. and we realise that we are actually racing against them everyday of our lives. Well, 'realise' is a bit presumptuous but we are forced to consider that it might be the case, at least. Or perhaps not, I do not know, but it is my review so I get to write whatever the hell I bloody well want to.

Around the pages, Krabbe sprinkles anecdotes about former Pro Tour winners and valiant competitors and we oblige ourselves to sit at Wikipedia, research them and become overnight experts on them. We want to got to work and shamelessly self-indulge by telling the stories like we have always known them, to people who could not care a shit. We want to click links to information about other top cyclists that are not mentioned in the book but raced against the ones that are. We want to check out the actual course that is ridden in the book and click links to other courses and read about them as well. We want to click link after link after link on cycling. We want to start a cycling blog, write a review about the book and assume that we are the mouthpiece for how other people not knowledgable about cycling might feel if they read it too.

There are a few ways that I could end this review with so, just like a special edition DVD, I will offer an uninspiring selection of alternatives.

Ending #1: My advice- Read it now to give yourself enough time to get sufficiently excited and prepared to get into watching the Tour de France in July (I could tell you all about May's Giro d'Italia).

Ending #2: My advice- Start looking for bikes before you read it because you will not want to waste time not riding one immediately afterwards.

Ending #3: The next time you are in a sports shop after reading the book, you will be casually stroking the frames and squeezing the tyres of bikes, feeling like you have infinately more knowledge about them than before.

Ending #4: So the next time you are sitting on the throne with your piles- standing, sitting, sweating, grimacing, panting, spitting, blistering, chaffing, etc. etc. you might realise that you are just a set of pedals away from being a rider.

$#!+,%@!!Keys!!#$%&;/`@!!

So I lost my keys when I was cycling to my mate's house. I went out of the door and thought about putting them in my backpack, as per usual, but I foolishly decided to put them in my pocket and sort it out when I got downstairs. I did not bloody do it, though, did I.
I realised the shocking truth when I arrived at the other end and tried to chain my bike up. Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! It makes me pissed off just thinking about it!

I went home slowly scouring the road in the dark (10.5km) but nothing. I did the journey again the next afternoon, back and forth in the daylight, but nothing. I asked at the police station but nothing.
I can get new ones but it is a pain in the arse, especially as I have to go to the car dealer in order to get another infra-red car lock. So I have not really lost anything that I cannot get back.
The thing that really gets me, though is the fact that I could not find them, despite having dropped them in the road on that route at some point. How the hell did they move from there?
The cycling was good, though.

Unlimited glove use

Got myself a dandy pair of cycling gloves the other day. In sports shops, fingerless cycling gloves range from about 2000-5000 yen. However, I managed to find this splendid, dashing yellow pair in the work clothes section of a home store for just 880 yen. They were marketed as 'multi-purpose' gloves and some of the suggestions for use were given as- indoor, outdoor, DIY, cycling, sports, work leisure. So, pretty much anything can be achieved when wearing them.

I compared them directly with the gloves in a sports shop and they were almost identical to a pair of Shimano (a top cycling brand) ones that cost 3000 yen. So it was a good bit of purchasing.
In fact, the Shimano gloves only allow you to do cycling while wearing them and do not work if you use them for anything else. They do not even let you do other sports while wearing them- strictly cycling ONLY. Apparantly, it is illegal by law to even consider doing so.

Ups, Downs and Dead Rodents

Today I went for a bit of a ride out into the countryside and into some mountains. I think I got this bicycle mainly for this kind of reason.
I really like the hill climbs cos I get to feel the burn (cue lots of American-style whooping and high-fiving) and I imagine that passing drivers think that I look pretty damn cool stood-up on my pedals and wearing my shades.

I am still a bit of a woofter going downhill and ride the breaks too much but I am slowly getting more comfortable at it. I find that if I sing loudly, I can relax more. Today I sang the first part of a Pearl Jam song about 20 times over as I kept making mistakes with the lyrics, hitting wrong notes and mixing-up verses. Not cool.

On the other side of the mountains, Mount Fuji should be visible but today was a bit cloudy so it was not. I did see a squished rat on the road, though. Next time I go out that way I want to... Well I will write about that after I have done it.
Below is a couple of crappy pics I took on my phone.

First Post

I decided to start this blog today. Well, actually, the idea came to me last night, was consolodated this afternoon and acted upon just now.
The purpose of this blog is to blabber about my new, and first, road bicycle and all our adventures as they happen.
I say 'road bicycle' because it has drop-handlebars, thin tyres and is designed for riding on the road. However, it is actually a Giant Defy 3, which is classed as a sports/ training bicycle. I did not know the difference until my recent pre-purchase research so, if this means nothing to you, you will not be punished. Who knows, I might even be bothered to explain it at some point.
Anyway, I am losing my blogging virginity with this post and it really is just a whim at the moment so could fade away at any time. In fact, this is most likely my last post ever.