Feed Your Faith http://feedyourfaith.posterous.com Most recent posts at Feed Your Faith posterous.com Mon, 31 May 2010 13:48:00 -0700 XCPro3 - back to my roots http://feedyourfaith.posterous.com/xcpro3-back-to-my-roots-0 http://feedyourfaith.posterous.com/xcpro3-back-to-my-roots-0

 

After much pondering and some pauses, my decision to get back to hardtail had been taken for me. Fed up of lugging a sluggy, heavy full suss round short, sharp and precise courses and on an uber-offroad commute* it was time. So I duly received a piece of my history (I owned a Maxlight 'some' years ago), only the right size this time** and so, so much better! The only part missing for the build was a headset ... nothing serious then ... but that was sorted quickly. Thursday night saw a quick build with Reba SL, Chris King wheels, XT everything and USE post/stem. Nice. 0515, alarm clock set. Up and out to tweak and tighten on a 40 mile off road commute. 

 

 

The Ride?

 

The Superplastic Formed Tubing delivers a gorgeous integrated head/downtube gusset. The phat BB tubing keeps things tight there too. The carbon wishbone seatstays? 40 miles of off road commuting. Arrive at the garage and, rather than the stalled and slow attempts to straighten my back, it was straight off and, after few touchy toes/quad stretches, all was well. 

 

Light

Precise

Sharp

Laterally Stiff

 

 

And did I mention the graphics?

 

 

It is nice to buy things that have been designed in a quiet, undulating rural part of Britain. The kinds of places that cycling folk would naturally be. 

 


So today, I fitted Small Block Eights and blasted round the Stanmer Big Dog course. The XCPro3 doesn't beat you up on the long ride and equally is huge amounts of twitchy, accurate and quick fun on tight crazy singletrack. 

 

* The Uber On road commute scares the hell out of me - too many 07:43 cardiac moments of angst youth, 10 feet behind, pumping into the turbo/nitro bands of some rocket ship with bumpers. 

 

** Just because a bike is cheap 2nd hand, it doesn't miraculously make a 17" frame fit a 19" body.

 

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http://files.posterous.com/user_profile_pics/1254662/BMR_0692.jpg http://posterous.com/users/3sIQgsGM0vst Philip Hodgkiss Philip Hodgkiss Philip Hodgkiss
Mon, 19 Apr 2010 12:49:00 -0700 Bright Sun Shiny Days http://feedyourfaith.posterous.com/bright-sun-shiny-days http://feedyourfaith.posterous.com/bright-sun-shiny-days

 Walking with the kids yesterday, I got them to be as quiet as possible in-between skirmishes and giggles. 'Look' I said, 'no trails or clouds in the sky, no noise at all. Isn't it amazing?'. Clearly not, as the younger is too busy wrestling the elder's flint rock out of his hands with the inevitable howls of indignation and belly chortles. I wander off and leave them to their interpretations of enjoying the outdoors and let my thoughts wander – yes there are significant financial repercussions and many hatches, matches and dispatches have been missed, but then should we be such a disparate society? Shouldn't we all just stay put? What utter nonsense ... strains of the youngest's beautiful voice singing '...allll obstaklllls in ma wayyyyy, gooone are the...' remind me of the fact.

I remember desperately trying to get onto Mull for a funeral, but being cast off by the gale force weather, no ferries running. But that wasn't a solo effort, Steve drove me through atrocious conditions from my island. It all swings round and is about. Raasay Rumble was on his trials. It'll happen again. And if we were to live in splendid and very local isolation, my mum and me wouldn't have shared a giggle, only hers perhaps a little more innocent than mine. Drop the 's' and change 'pick' for 'grow'? Ahhhh. 

But then commutes. Now. three weeks into my bi-weekly South Downs/Surrey Hills commute and I'm feeling good. The first week was ok - not happy with form, but ok. The second; double puncture two miles from work. Now that's not fair. A friendly face popped out of his car, 'can I give you a lift somewhere?' After thanking him profusely whilst he pulled away, I unravelled my two short valve tubes that somehow had to fit into the deep section rims. Bugger! Look cleats are plastic and expensive. Visiting the LBS later that day and I'm back in the 80's, in Clarkston - it's wee Alec the framebuilder with roll-up in mouth ... only it's not, same body, similar face and reek of stale tobacco, just no fags on show. 62mm valves x 2. Look cleats. Thanks. 

Since the commute of irritating valve fail, there have been three uneventful rides; other than when the chip shop owner in Horsham bodily grabbed me off my bike and, forcing £1.30 out my hand, replaced it with a bag of chips. The metabolic change keeps on catching me unawares – 'I'm fine, I'm fine, I've hit the wall!'. It feels better immediately after every effort, but with diminishing endorphin returns, sometimes finding myself in the garage – tapping on top tubes and looking for my next fix. There is running and the gym, but they are extreme and not sustainable efforts. Swimming. Hrm. swimming. It's obvious to me that I'm a trail junky and an endorphin fiend. Frankly, you can stuff your adrenaline, It's ok in blasts, but not sustainable for the long, beautiful sensation. I need to be in the outdoors and seeking the thrill of singletrack, the agony, dispair and exuberance of endurance r..rid...rac... ach!

The kids sniff out and run down some local secret singletrack, in perfect condition. Momentarily I regret not having a bike, but it is the briefest of moments - they have devised a stop, go, weeeee! ... crunch ... game and I'm being reprimanded for not joining in. 

Quite early the next morning, I get time to head out and over to that secret single track. The long way of course and let it all out. Amen. Riding back home, there is a comical and quite rude (grim stare forward, FSR Carbon) overtake. Now I wasn't pushing it, only just ambling along. Obviously, I take his wheel. I mean he's a great windbreak (stop it!). Then a shambles of metal and garish rugby shirts thunder past at the roundabout. Grr. All around there is the grinding of big Ullrich-esque gearing, Rugby shirts and grim-faced man-men. This is just plain silly and annoying. I slip the Launch Control on ... or is it off? Not sure, turn shock to pro-pedal and pounce like a coiled python (in the right gear of course). My break is a good'n. Grim-faced FSR man catches me in a while, but not so quick as to induce utter despair. Darn. More commutes and Tuesday night rides required. I may even get my racing socks out soon to receive a truly massive drubbing. But I like that too - one drubbing = massive gain in form. What am I saying! I just want to be fast ... er.

I suppose I'm feeding my faith, but that is about much more and will become obvious soon. As soon as I can create something that makes sense. Another good outdoor person has just been diagnosed. Similar and unhelpful prognosis. If only the same effort that went into nuclear fusion and space exploration, went into cancer research and treatment. But even breast can't sex it up enough, apparently. Heaven forbid we should talk about men wobbly bits.

What was meant to be a charitable (thank Christ he's going to be ok/thanks NHS for your accurate early diagnosis) charity Land's End to John O'Groats has drifted by one year and will be on dad's birthday - May 7th 2011, only I recon 50 hours now, not 60. So those who have donated will not be disappointed, just I'll be a year late. 

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Thu, 11 Mar 2010 13:20:00 -0800 The Uber Commuter http://feedyourfaith.posterous.com/the-uber-commuter http://feedyourfaith.posterous.com/the-uber-commuter

 

DSCF2606

I think it was Tim Hilton who suggested a cyclist's ideal commuting distance is 26 miles, otherwise (and especially in winter) the kitting up and then changing at work negates the benefit of the whole experience. My cycling power is much more that of Ullrich than Armstrong, a big plodding diesel and tends to need a 10kg mallet of coffee to spark up in the morning. Thud ... thud ... thud ... going now. So for me, 26 miles is just getting going, really. During my formative years of road racing, I remember the misery of riding a short distance from work to my local swimming pool then changing out of and back into wet lycra ...

Two ears ago, I had the wonderful opportunity of commuting from Hove to Hampshire eight times a month for approximately a year. It was with a fair amount of trepidation that I first starting this considerable distance and incredulity from people that work with me. 56 miles there, 56 miles back. 'But they are flat miles – perfect spinning, it's great'. Blank stares. During the first month I would arrive late for meetings; disheveled and still buzzing from some caffeinated drink that I'd guzzled to battle a particularly ferocious headwind. Other days, I'd arrive fresh and hardly breaking a sweat. Most days it was an average 17-18mph of nice steady effort with good tunes. Before long, I learnt to check the forecast and have my 25 minute buffer either way. 

Some days, I would leave the house and arrive at work without really being aware of riding. On one such winter morning, traffic calming road furniture had been added from one ride to the next. BAM BAM!! One new set of wheel later ... Other mornings, especially when the weather was gloriously warm and sunny or particularly vicious, I would arrive fresh and vibrant or cunning. Surprisingly, I had very few commuter races - only one that sticks in my mind, Mr. Grey socks. Grumpy sod. 

Starting from April 1st, I will be commuting to Guilford two days a week. When the announcement came at work I almost let out a yelp of excitement. Two days of riding over rolling Downland and into kicking Surrey Hills to arrive at an office with showers and a gym ... why on earth wouldn't you? Especially as I have specific events to train for starting with May 7th (dad's 74th birthday). I'll be riding the coast-to-coast route as fast as I can do it. The following year on May 7th, I'll go from Lands End to John O'Groats in something under 60 hours. There are other rides and races being planned in between. Feed Your Faith is about awareness of cancer treatments, both conventional and alternative and having the complete knowledge to make informed choices. I don't claim to be an expert, but have seen what knowledge is not freely available. 

So. My commutes will start on the disused railway line over Devil's Dyke, up the winding sleepy Sussex lanes, into sharp Surrey hills and onto work. Not a bad start or end to the working day in my book.

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http://files.posterous.com/user_profile_pics/1254662/BMR_0692.jpg http://posterous.com/users/3sIQgsGM0vst Philip Hodgkiss Philip Hodgkiss Philip Hodgkiss