The Lair of the SlowFox

The first rule about the Commuting Race is that you don't talk about the Commuting Race.

But... it's more what you might call a 'guideline' than a rule, so...

Normally, I don't get involved too much (why, yes, I do have a Food Chain Number: 6 on one steed, 8 on the other), but this morning was too good to pass up.

I'm spinning merrily along Chants on the stealth bike (it's fixed, and purrs along silently, just the barest hint of tyre hum), and a Serious Guy™ in full-on lycra (I'm in my work clothes, as those who will recall that I frequently type these updates bare-chested from Teh Office of Teh Fox will appreciate) pulls out in front of me, pushing along at a fair clip.

Instantly, he moves across towards the middle of the road, preparing to turn right at the upcoming roundabout, standing on the pedals, really putting the effort in.

Me? I whisk past, sitting down and leave him for dead, just catching the 'Whu...?' as I vanish into the distance.

Oh yes.

Sweet indeed :-)

Last week, a Saracen bike suddenly appeared, locked to the lamppost at the foot of Blenheim. I'm not really an expert on mountain bikes these days^*, but it didn't look like a cheap machine.

It was still there the following day, which wasn't entirely unexpected, but from that point on, components have been going missing from it on what seems like a daily (or, more probably, nightly) basis.

The front wheel went first. Then the handlebars. It had disc brakes, and they've now vanished, along with the derailleurs, the handlebars, the saddle and the back wheel.

Now all that's left is the frame, sans forks, the chainset, cranks and pedals, pretty much. And, of course, the lock still affixing these rather token remains to the street furniture.



* readers accustomed to Ralph's tendency to do things by halves will be astounded to learn that at one time he was a massive mountain bike geek. I guess it's the exception that proves the rule...

Went out for a ride on the fixed gear bike yesterday afternoon. 'Fixed gear' means that the bike has only one gear, and no freewheel. So you can't coast. If the wheels are moving, then so are the pedals. I could wax lyrical upon how this is the embodiment of philosophical purity of design^* writ large, in that the bike is reduced to the bare minimum (nearly: my steed has brakes - the true fixed hardcore ride brakeless, because you can stop the bike with the pedals), but I shall save that ode for another day.

Initially, I headed east across town, if only because the one-way system outside Castle Fox launches you that way. However, I soon changed my mind, and headed back west. Once you're through Cottingham, you can can get on the back roads, and suddenly you're riding through Countryside Proper.

Climbing hills on the fixed is actually easier than you might think: because the rear wheel and pedals are directly linked, you are the beneficiary of a flywheel effect that does its best to keep you moving forward. Downhills, conversely, are a little too exciting - my legs spin out at about 30mph at the moment, and attempting to go faster than that is crazy stupid :-P

So, from Cottingham, it's uphill through Skidby and Little Weighton up to the radio transmitter at High Hunsley. Then it's a loooooooooooooooooong downhill into North Newbald, admiring the glorious views across the Vale of York under a cloudless blue sky.

I then had to join the main road for a while, going through Sancton and on to Market Weighton. In 'Weighton itself, I then joined the titular Route 66 of the Sustrans National Cycle Network.

To the untrained eye, Route 66 looks as though it follows the valley floor 'twixt Market Weighton and South Dalton. This is in fact incorrect. It doesn't follow the valley floor, it sends you through a natural wind tunnel... This was a long, solid grind into a headwind, where much of the ride all I could manage to do was say to myself One-Two-Three-Four. One-Two-Three-Four as I counted out the pedal revolutions.

I had intended to start looping back towards Castle Fox, but then realised that I wasn't that far from the Farm, so flitted Northwards to call in on them there. Leaving the farm I took the Bracken Road so as to postpone joining the main road back as long as possible, and then went through Molescroft and Beverley, riding back via Dunswell.

This part of the route may well have been flat, but my legs were pretty tired by now, and it felt like I was crawling. When driving, it takes 30 minutes (almost exactly) to get from the Farm to Castle Fox in the car. On the fixed it took me 1 hour 12 minutes, which I don't think was too shabby.

So, 45 miles, fixed, in 3¼ hours. Had I known how close I was to the half-century, I'd have padded the ride out the necessary extra five miles. Still, given that the furthest I've ridden in the last ten years is just 20 miles (and that was a fortnight ago), 45 seems OK to be going on with.


* Pretentious? Moi??

When the high point of the coming week is a trip to Stockton-on-Tees on Thursday, you start to question your definition of 'high' ;-P

The aforementioned means that Mali is off to his Happy Holiday Home on Wednesday (because we set off at 7.30am from work on the Thursday), and is being collected on Friday morning. This, in turn, messes with my non-driving-commuting strategy, since I need to drive up to the kennels on Wednesday morning and, of course, on Friday morning (to pick the hound up).

I have, though, been doing pretty well on cycling to work of late. As well as being better from the CO₂/oil-depletion perspective, it's also quicker, when you time door-to-door transit. The downside is that it's a short commute (even if I ride there and back twice a day), and I'd really like to build up some stamina so that I can tackle longer rides. Working on that one.