Chalk lines and village halls

It was all very British. Sat in a village hall car park at an hour when most folk were still in bed sleeping off the excesses of a good Saturday night, two bikes wrapped in blankets on the folded seats behind us as we watched other competitors arrive. Outside the hall stood two men, one with a clipboard the other measuring the distance of a complete crank rotation between two chalked lines. Any bike travelling more than 18 feet 8 1/4 inches was instantly disqualified. We had entered the world of medium geared time trialling. It felt like a mysterious closed society - the stuff of secret handshakes and whispered conversations.

This is the underbelly of British club cycling - an honest down-to-earth, grass roots event that sits a million light years from the glamour of televised Grand Tours. The fundamental principles might have been the same but the execution was very different.

Having passed the measurement requirement we signed on. Now we had passed the point of no return. We were committed. Our countdown with destiny (and the stopwatch) had begun.

However well you prepare, there's always those unknown factors, those niggly little things that float around in your head before the off. We lined up in a narrow lane leading to a farmer's field, everyone in sequence with the numbers pinned to our backs. No digital LED countdown, no start ramp just a line chalked on the road and man with a clipboard and stopwatch. A 25 mile TT had seemed a good idea at the time of entering. It didn't anymore. Having refused the starter's push in favour of a self-propelled start, the race of truth had begun.

You soon reach top speed on a single speed bike; the secret, as in any time trial, is maintaining it. It took eight painful miles to regulate breathing, settle down and find a rhythm. As soon as the halfway roundabout came into view we knew we were homeward bound. This elation was immediately soured by a sequence of repeated mechanical failures - on three separate occasions the chain jumped the rear sprocket. Without a team car in sight (dream on punter!) it was time to get our hands dirty. The ignoble sight of a cyclist, bike upturned by the side of the road wrestling a jammed chain signified us kissing goodbye to any semblance of a decent finishing time.

Needless to say we completed the event way down the field but we weren't last and our appetite to give it another go is keen. We have unfinished business.

Do You Remember The First Time?

I don’t remember the first time I ever rode a bicycle, sadly, but I do remember the first time I ever rode a bicycle in London. My trusty teenage steed had been heartbreakingly stolen from outside a pub in Brighton, where I was at university, but fortunately my mum’s contents insurance had come through with a replacement.

My destination was Angel, to meet a girl. The exact date escapes me but it must have been around this time of year because it was the middle of term, and she was struggling with a seasonal cold. In what remains, probably, the most romantic gesture I have ever made I carried with me a sachet of Lemsip, intending to present her with a steaming, medicinal mug of it when she arrived.  

But this isn’t about her - although maybe it is a bit - so back to biking.

In the age of GPS we take that little flashing dot for granted, but this was a simpler time so stowed in my back pocket, alongside the Lemsip, was an A to Z. Until that day I had only ever needed a few of its pages, covering five or six square miles at most, always pretty central, around tourist traps and taverns. Yet barely a few pedal revolutions into my journey I recall revelling in how much more of the map I was marking, as the unfathomably expansive urban landscape shrank to nothing beneath my wheels.

My mind’s eye can still make out the facades of stations as I zipped by: in the leafy west Warwick Avenue, Maida Vale and St John’s Wood, all disappearing into my dust no sooner than they were stumbled upon. A miniature Leslie Green architectural tour was next as I sailed by the oxblood red facades of Chalk Farm, parks Belsize and Tufnell, then Archway before turning south along Holloway Road. I surely took the wrong exit off Highbury Corner at least once before finishing with a triumphant dash down Upper Street.

Although it didn’t work out with the girl, boy did me and cycling make a good couple. In less than an hour I had seen more of London than in twenty years and, no longer confined by bus routes, tube maps and timetables, my sense of this city was completely transformed. I could go where I wanted, when I wanted, for nothing.

In the decade since I have built up my own mental map of London, filling in gaps one trip at a time. As such, although I don’t think I know this city better than anyone else but I do know it better than I otherwise would. I have crossed the river a thousand joyful times over every bridge from Putney to the Tower. I have broken a wrist, a leg, suffered cuts and scrapes, and survived more near misses than I can count. I have texted my mum approximately 376 times to reassure her that I’ve made it home in one piece.

The point, of this unforgivably London-centric ramble, is that with construction seemingly everywhere forcing road users big and small into an ever narrower space - plus y’know Winter - many a by-bike commuter seems to be of the view that this is as hard as it’s ever been. Even the most “half full” of you might feel like London is, at best, going through an “always darkest before the dawn” period. Tough it out, you tell yourself, keep calm and... some old bollocks.

And to a certain extent I agree: It's not always easy, at times it’s downright grim. But it's always, ALWAYS, better than the alternative. Battling through the cold and rain is always better than facing the soot, sweat and invisible horrors carried by other people on the tube. The odd hop on the pavement or swerve for safety is always better than staring down from the top deck of the bus at an endless traffic jam, knowing the best you can do is email into work to say you'll be late. Getting into furious swearing matches with cab drivers who don’t feel obliged to acknowledge that yes, you do in fact have a right to physical mass, is better than being forcing your way onto a train that was designed for a tenth of the people on it.

Every time I feel like giving up on this city I think back to the first day I rode a bike here. As a child I had only ever seen them as playthings, but that was the day I awoke to their potential to liberate and empower, to allow a country boy like me not just to live here, but to truly feel alive.

The Italian Job

We were lucky enough to visit Italy last week, researching an article for the next issue of the magazine. We won't spoil the surprise by telling you exactly where we went or who we met but we will tell you that we were in the north east of the country, in Veneto, a region that's about as steeped in cycling history and culture as it's possible to be. 

Between epic mealtimes, during which we made serious inroads into the Italian calzone mountain, we met sprightly septuagenarians and energetic 20-somethings; we visited small family businesses and huge conglomerates; we watched all sorts of manufacturing processes and wandered around awe-inspiring cycling museums; we discussed the past, present and future of the cycling industry. But one thing remained constant: everyone we met shared such a deep passion for all things cycling that we couldn't help but be inspired and energised. 

Our love for what we do rarely wavers but it doesn't hurt every once in a while to give ourselves a fresh little espresso shot of enthusiasm. Grazie Italia e arrivederci a presto!

Worthwhile moments

There's nothing we like more than meeting our readers, whether it's on the road for a ride or at an event like the one we attended last night in Brighton.

The kind folk at Magazine Brighton had invited us to give a talk about what goes on behind the scenes at a magazine like Simpson: how we choose our stories, the thinking behind the design of the magazine, and some of the processes involved in turning raw ideas into the final product.

It was a fun session, capped by some good questions from the audience. We hope those who attended enjoyed it as much as we did - and maybe learned something new in the process. Our thanks to Roxy, Martin and the team at Magazine Brighton for making it all possible.

The best bit of the evening for us was when a young design student approached us after the talk and told us about her dad, who sadly fell ill recently. She bought him a copy of Simpson to cheer him up a bit - he'd once been a keen cyclist so she thought he might find it interesting. She told us that he loved the magazine and that reading it had really perked him up and reignited his interest in cycling. 

Hearing stories like that is what it's all about as far as we're concerned. Thank you so much to those who came to the event and to those who support us in other ways - by buying the magazine, following us on social media or joining our rides. We look forward to seeing you in the future at other events.

Early season goals

If we are honest with each other, sometimes motivation is difficult to muster - never more so than when daylight hours and temperatures are at their lowest. 

The obvious alternative - indoor training - may address the need to exercise but it can't be truly classified as cycling. Confined to sheds, garages or spare rooms, the solo cyclist rides to nowhere as their mind and body screams that what they're doing is artificial and wrong. Granted, it's better than not riding at all and it does help maintain your fitness.

Then comes the phone call or email: 'I've signed up for this event. Do you fancy riding it with me?' No sooner have these words registered in your mind than the ever-competitive beast within, the one that has lain dormant through the winter months, suddenly awakes.

Early season goals switch on that generator, the one that enables us to find the willpower to mobilise and ready ourselves for the challenge ahead. For some it's no more than an opportunity to indulge in new kit and bike upgrades, for others it provides the focus they've lacked - the catalyst that ignites the fire.

With this in mind, we've signed up for two early season events, very different from each other but reflective of the scope of rides now available. The first is Windmolen Achtervolgen - a curious concept ride where the objective is to visit (and photograph) as many windmills in Sussex as possible in a day. Described as a 'fundax' it's a cocktail of logistics, navigation and coffee stops and offers the perfect excuse to get out and ride. Details can be found at http://www.rule5bikes.co.uk/shop/ but numbers are limited.

Our second targeted event consists of a very different type of event, a 25 mile TT for single speed (MG72") only. Run by the Diss & District CC on the flat roads of Norfolk, it's going to be an... interesting experience. Why not give yourself an early season target and enter at http://ctt.org.uk/event/20810?