Five punctures in four miles

...if we even managed to cycle that far - we were only out for 90 minutes, including puncture fixing time.

In hindsight, our mistake was cycling down the towpath, which runs alongside (the canal!) long-thorned hedge bushes. That have recently been trimmed, causing sharp-thorned debris to fall onto the towpath.

Tis often said that the secret to good comedy is timing, and the punctures came along with perfect timing.

RC got the first puncture, and we all stopped while she stripped the wheel and replaced it with the always-carry-a-spare tube. She had just about finished when the Sparkly One noticed that her front tyre was flatter than it should be.

Chuckling quietly, I set about fixing it and in short order had installed the spare tube. I was just pumping it up when, with a slip of the wrist, I snapped the valve off in the pump - rookie error! The tube was beyond repair, useless. And I had no other spares, no repair kit.

Several moments passed during which all of the most severe curse words were invoked. A small child, passing with his family on their Boxing Day stroll, almost went blind at the language. Two small birds died instantly. The inner tube remained useless.

DB had already spotted the predictable flat in his own rear tyre and begun replacing it. We did a quick swap of tubes - he patched The Sparkly One's original for himself, having been wise enough to bring a patch kit - and I fitted his replacement to her bike.

Finally, when we were all just about ready to set off again, I spotted the flat in my own rear tyre, and set to fixing that.

I told you, comic timing.

At this point, we were agreed that the Stars Were Not Right, and laid a plan to head home by walking our bikes to the nearest road, and cycling straight home. As we set off, DB got the fifth puncture of the day. He fixed it in grim silence.

Repeat after me: always always always carry a spare tube, and a puncture patch kit.

In favour of toe clips

Usually, when I am riding the London to Brighton Bike Ride, I make the effort to remove my clipless pedals (the sort that anchor the bike shoes to the bike, and make riding much more efficient and pleasant) and replace them with flat pedals with toe clips.

I do this because on the L2B the roads and hills in particular are often crowded with the sheer number of riders (around 27,000 every year), some of whom will be bobbing and weaving unsteadily up the hill, and some of whom will be pushing their bikes. In those circumstances, I find it a bit easier to get out of toe clips in a hurry, should I need to - if, for instance, I am bumped by the rider in front me and in danger of tumbling messily to the road.

This year, for the first time, I elected to ride with the clipless pedals I normally use, figuring that I would be just fine - either I would stay out of trouble, or I would unclip my feet at a safe distance, and ride up the hill without the benefit, but without the danger.

And so I did, for the first, oh fifty miles of the ride, until I came to the largest, steepest, longest hill climb of the Ride, from the village of Ditchling up to the Beacon on the very top of the South Downs. (I've geekily built a little Gmaps Pedometer route of the climb. Make sure you switch on the elevation display!)

As can be safely predicted, I quickly found myself accidentally touching the wheel in front of me, losing balance, and struggling to free my feet from my elegant machine.

I went down with an apologetic cry and a heavy thump onto my left knee.

Needless to say, I immediately remounted with gusto, dashed the tears from my brave and shining eyes, and continued with my ascent with increased fevour. And I did not hamper or hinder any other rider as a result of my tumble.

The picture below, taken at the top of the hill with my Blackberry, shows the regrettable, impressive (and somewhat sore) result.

The embarrassment is far greater a wound, however.

Alas, I do not have any pictures of the splendid view from the top of the hill - stretching over the rolling hills down to the sea, very well worth the climb. Nor any of the hundreds of cyclists and several ice creams vans plying their welcome and brisk trade atop the Downs themselves.

Nice white socks though, what?

And I was not alone in my injury. My riding companion, the ever-sprightly Bearded One, was the victim of a wheel-clipping-induced-tumble rather earlier in the ride, resulting in a flat tyre, a hole in his cycling leggings, and an increasingly-claret-coloured leg. With satisfying symmetry, it was the opposing, some would say complementary, patella that was lesioned. Let the record show that - with customary resolve - he stiffened his hirsute upper lip, replaced his inner tube, and ventured bravely on for the remainder of the ride.

Cycle commuting in the Cotswolds

Today, I commuted to work on my bicycle. This is remarkable only for the fact that I travelled this morning from the scenic Chalford Hill, travelling the full 16 miles with a keen tailwind.

I saw a dead badger, a dead pigeon, and a blackbird, all reclining on the road's early morning surface.

At lunch time I ran a steady 5 miles.

In the evening, I cycled back to Chalford Hill, with the morning's tailwind become the evening's headwind, blowing steadily in my face all the way. It took me 50% longer to get home, panting and straining and occasionally gasping in frustrated exhaustion.

When I arrived, I was knackered - with hardly enough energy to be triumphant. The final stretch had been singularly dark and disturbing, especially the descent down Cowcombe Hill, and that despite my superb lights. And I had to stop four times on my way up Old Neighbourhood, a hill of rare intensity, particularly at the end of the day.

But I did it :)

Pimpin' my girl

I've just spent a satisfying few minutes restoring Flora to glory.

Although we all know it wasn't a few minutes (because I am not the king of bicycle maintenance).

Nevertheless, she now has the bullhorn aero-bar handlebars with reverse action brake levers that I have craved for years, and a lovely mottled purple cork tape, to go with her frame. And I replaced the brake cables as well, all by myself.

Stepping out with Flora

Today, I had some business in town, so Flora and I pottered and tottered off down there, and a jolly nice time I had of it too. Everywhere I went, I left Flora, unguarded and unrestrained, leaning against the racks or the front of the shops as I went about my business.

When I returned, there she was. Unmolested and unremarked. For the most part, unnoticed too, which was a bit of a shame - I think she probably would have liked someone to comment on her. All in all, something of a happy victory, given that one of my motivations for getting her was to be able to pop down the shops without fear of theftery.

But there is no question about who is in charge. When I went out with her the other day, cycling to the swimming pool in the early hours, she left her mark on me in two ways. The first - minor and hardly significant - a blister on my finger from her handlebars. A reminder that she is not a gentle mistress.


The second, more lasting, is the realisation that stopping pedalling is simply not an option. Once I have started her off, she will go on whether I want to stop my legs or no. I forgot this on a few occasions, and barely managed to save myself from a tumble.

Luckily, I am a fast learner. And I am still whole.

Flora's here!

Flora came into my life today.

She's a fixed wheel bicycle that I successfully bought on eBay at the end of last week. Between you and me, I think she's done a bit of living, 'cos she's a bit tired and rough around some of her edges. I reckon she's seen a few things, and been well-loved in her time.

I spent a bit of time putting her back together, as she'd arrived all dismantled and squeezed into a surprisingly-small box. Next it's off to the bike shop to get her trimmed by someone who knows what they're doing. And then I can take her out for a spin!

Oh, and she's a kind of off-purple colour that could never be confused with pink.

The Single Speed Challenge

So, I've been thinking about buying a fixed-wheel bicycle for some time. I like the simplicity of fixies, with no gearing or derallieurs or the like. I like the difficult-to-steal nature of them, the purity of the concept. In fact, I've been bidding unsuccessfully for them on eBay for a while now. Not that I'm miffed about it, or anything.

Anyway, today, just to see how it felt - just for shits and giggles, you might say - I cycle-commuted (that's cycled both to and from work) using only one gear. There I was on my cheap and cheerful Saracen Tour, using neither the lovely Campag integrated gear shifters, nor the Shimano gear mechs. I left 12 of the 13 available gear ratios unexplored (interestingly, although there are 16 possible combinations of cogs, there are only 13 distinct gear ratios).

Why? Well since you ask, in that half-bored tone of voice, I was experimenting with the only-one-gear concept, just to see how it felt.

It felt pretty good :-)

For anyone that is remotely interested I used a 39/21, giving me around a 50 inch gear - a very easy gear.