Do you know how long it took staring at the ceiling to come up with an alliterative title?
Being an ex-pat Yorkshire-ist in Scotland, parting with money in return for good and services is not something I find comes naturally. Even the weekly expedition to collect food from Lord Sainsbury is a source of excitement (I can't be the only one who has a ritual trip down the white goods aisle, just to check if some unheralded scientific breakthrough has suddenly made slow cookers plummet in price).
So when society (and the expectations of those I wish to keep as the nearest and dearest) turn around with a stern look on their face and dictate that I go and spend money, I'm way out of my depth. As you might have guessed - I've been Christmas shopping (I'm also going to have to tread carefully, because I know that people I've bought things for read this blog, so if it begins to read like a heavily redacted expenses claim, I'm very sorry).
First thing's first - no christmas music. Not yet anyway. I don't like Shakin' Stevens for 50 weeks of the year, so I'll be damned if I'll listen to them for more than a few days. And Noddy Holder's pension must be large enough already, without me propping it up. (As an aside, can you imagine how catastrophically shite life would be if it genuinely were Christmas every day? Nothing would ever get done, snowballs would be something you legitimately order in a pub, and we'd never get to Boxing Day. The very fabric of society as we know it would fall apart).
Then, because of the way we do commerce in the country, I have to go into shops and actually buy things. Going into buildings is something I consider myself to have a good grasp of, as is the concept of buying things; but combining the two is tricky for me. Largely because of the people who work in shops.
I appreciate that working in retail is terrible. You meet the dregs of human society trying to get as much as possible in as short a space of time, but I do nearly all my shopping on the internet - so I'm not used to people trying to help me part with money. My idea of shopping is to approach a row of shops with a clear idea of what I want, and then try to find all the shops that will sell me said item - and then buy the cheapest, as I would if the shops were web sites (see what I said earlier about natural parsimony). But when I get collared by Dave, and he tries to derail me into buying a soap I neither need or want, I tend to either go glassy eyed and dribble, or do something daft. Today I walked into a major cosmetic and hygiene product retailer (you know, the one promoted by the Veggie Society who are also slang for an alcoholic), and was immediately taken by a bout of overconfidence. "Girly" shops are not native territory for me. Indeed, if the shop doesn't smell of either Nikwax or WD40, I'm probably not welcome. But I'd just had a poke around The Bear Factory without major mishap, so swept into this soap emporium, and immediately collared Dave to give a man who considers Swarfega to be the height of cleaning technology a brief tutorial as to what I should be buying. It quickly became very apparent that the questions I asked had very little bearing on what Dave wanted to tell me, and he'd forgotten more things about tea scented soap than I'd ever learn. The tipping point came when he turned to me with a completely straight face, and asked where I wanted the products I was buying to be on the spectrum of pampering to cleansing (I had no idea these were diametric opposites). My resultant giggling fit (for I do have them sometimes) forced me to leave the shop with no cleaning products whatsoever, not even a tissue. Dave: I can only say I'm sorry.
Apologies if you were expecting a blog post about bikes. Turns out that being a lazy-ass post-grad (hyphenated any way you like) eats more of your time than you'd expect, so I went out for my first ride in a month yesterday. Normal nerdiness and bike puns will resume, I promise.
Thursday 15 December 2011
Thursday 3 November 2011
Hills and Beer in Scotland
I moved to Edinburgh.
I also (accidentally-ish) became a sordid engineer.
Because this is neither Homes Under the Hammer, nor an education column - I won't go into why, suffice to say that between Finals before the summer, and moving to the Democratic People's Republic of Scotland I haven't had a great deal of time to update ye blogge. There are some stark differences between Oxford and Edinburgh that are worth mentioning. ("Really Mike?" I hear you cry. "Will you next explain to us the religious orientation of the Pope? And the habits of clenching bears?").
For a starter there's the hills. In Oxford, there is one hill - and people flock for miles around to marvel at its grassy inclines. In Edinburgh, the Pentland Hills Regional Park takes care of any and all of your topographical desires. I've dropped my standard gearing from 32:16 to 32:18 (nerd alert), and increased the front disc rotor width out to the full downhill-monty width of 203mm. These seem to (with a few notable, and to my riding buddies hilarious, exceptions) get me out of most problems.
My current nemesis is a hill called "Puke Hill." So named because of the effects it has on the even slightly hungover who try to cycle up it. I joined Edinburgh RC about a month ago, and they took the view that baptisms of fire should not be the sole property of the Holy Ghost, so took me straight up it on my first outing. Sadly, I don't actually have any figures for the hill in terms of length or elevation (other than "it's chuffing difficult"). Hopefully by next week I should have a photograph or two to put up. Colourful names seem to be a running theme through the Pentlands. My definite favourite is the Chocolate Slide of Doom, which as you can imagine, provides a heart-in-mouth ride - all too commonly followed by a mud-in-mouth moment, especially after it's been raining.
No SingleSpeed ride would be complete without beer, so that's worth mentioning too. I'd had Scotland down as a land of distilleries, interspersed by an immoral quantity of kilt. But apparently this is the tourist view (the one they'll gleefully sell you on the Royal Mile), and Scottish breweries are actually a thing. Above are four I picked up from a local supermarket (beers, not breweries - do keep up). The only one I have tried as yet (keep watching the Twitter feed if you've nothing to do, and really want to know effect these have on my ability to use a BlackBerry http://twitter.com/#!/SingleSpeedMike) is the Bellhaven 80, which is decidedly mediocre. With any luck, Brewdog should come up trumps - they've got a special place in my heart for repeatedly sticking two fingers up at the Drinks Industry Regulators (something we're going to need more of in Scotland if the government have their way...).
I also (accidentally-ish) became a sordid engineer.
Because this is neither Homes Under the Hammer, nor an education column - I won't go into why, suffice to say that between Finals before the summer, and moving to the Democratic People's Republic of Scotland I haven't had a great deal of time to update ye blogge. There are some stark differences between Oxford and Edinburgh that are worth mentioning. ("Really Mike?" I hear you cry. "Will you next explain to us the religious orientation of the Pope? And the habits of clenching bears?").
For a starter there's the hills. In Oxford, there is one hill - and people flock for miles around to marvel at its grassy inclines. In Edinburgh, the Pentland Hills Regional Park takes care of any and all of your topographical desires. I've dropped my standard gearing from 32:16 to 32:18 (nerd alert), and increased the front disc rotor width out to the full downhill-monty width of 203mm. These seem to (with a few notable, and to my riding buddies hilarious, exceptions) get me out of most problems.
My current nemesis is a hill called "Puke Hill." So named because of the effects it has on the even slightly hungover who try to cycle up it. I joined Edinburgh RC about a month ago, and they took the view that baptisms of fire should not be the sole property of the Holy Ghost, so took me straight up it on my first outing. Sadly, I don't actually have any figures for the hill in terms of length or elevation (other than "it's chuffing difficult"). Hopefully by next week I should have a photograph or two to put up. Colourful names seem to be a running theme through the Pentlands. My definite favourite is the Chocolate Slide of Doom, which as you can imagine, provides a heart-in-mouth ride - all too commonly followed by a mud-in-mouth moment, especially after it's been raining.
No SingleSpeed ride would be complete without beer, so that's worth mentioning too. I'd had Scotland down as a land of distilleries, interspersed by an immoral quantity of kilt. But apparently this is the tourist view (the one they'll gleefully sell you on the Royal Mile), and Scottish breweries are actually a thing. Above are four I picked up from a local supermarket (beers, not breweries - do keep up). The only one I have tried as yet (keep watching the Twitter feed if you've nothing to do, and really want to know effect these have on my ability to use a BlackBerry http://twitter.com/#!/SingleSpeedMike) is the Bellhaven 80, which is decidedly mediocre. With any luck, Brewdog should come up trumps - they've got a special place in my heart for repeatedly sticking two fingers up at the Drinks Industry Regulators (something we're going to need more of in Scotland if the government have their way...).
How To Go Solo
So, for reasons best known to yourself, you've decided to take all but one of the gears off your mountain bike (one of the more lively phone conversations I've had in my life was explaining to my parents what I was doing to the mountain bike they'd helped me buy not eight months previously). How do you go about doing it?
There are various sites about that'll guide you through the process, though they're all a few years old now (which was the principle inspiration to setting up this blog). The two most informative I found are Triangle Mountain Bike and Sheldon Brown's bit on conversions. I disagree with some of the things said on both sites, most notably Sheldon's recommendation that you don't use rear disc brakes which I think would be a fairly courageous choice for technical singletrack use, especially in the wet.
The simplest, but most expensive way to ride single speed is just to buy yourself a dedicated single speed bike. OnOne do an excellent set of "rolling chassis" where they sell you a frame, a fork, and some wheels - leaving brake and saddle choice to you. Alternatively Genesis do a solid range of single speed bikes. Fortunately for all of us, as mountain biking has grown enormously in popularity over the last decade, more and more companies have been able to accommodate the outer fringes of the sport more and more (does anyone else dimly recall the nineties when one bike did everything, and the world championship downhillers wore lycra and sky diving goggles?) so gone are the days when getting a single speed mountain bike meant investing in a track frame, and bunch of rosary beads to make sure the thing didn't come apart on shaky descents.
But let's assume you're a bit more like me, and can't really justify buying a new bike, what do you have to do? Firstly, you have to take everything off. This means the front chainrings (keep the middle one, you'll need that in a bit - provided it's not too worn), derailleurs, cables, and rear cassette. Then take a look at your dropouts. Sheldon has a handy pictorial guide to them - but if you've got anything other than horizontal dropouts (we'll debate later whether we can legitimately call them "dropouts"), you're going to need a chain tensioner.
Chain tensioners come in all sorts of weird shapes and sizes, in a few weeks I'm going to do a more comprehensive article focussing on them, as I'm currently undertaking a long term test of a number of different designs. But as a beginner converter, you've got two realistic options: keep your rear derailleur, or buy a single speed conversion kit. Keeping your rear derailleur will add a little weight, but will be incredibly dependable, and maintain near perfect chain tension all the time. The research man-hours that big bike companies (probably either Shimano or SRAM in this case) can put into their components far outstrips that that small single speed companies can put in, producing components that are usually fairly bomb-proof. The other advantage to keeping your rear derailleur is that if you do horrify yourself with the monstrosity you turn your pride and joy into, you can always quickly reverse the changes and pretend nothing happened.
As for dedicated single speed conversion kits, the only one I can recommend (and I can't recommend it highly enough) is the kit by DMR. It comes with everything you need, a sprocket of a sensible size, spacers for your freehub body, and a chain tensioner. I raced and rode perfectly happily on this for a year with no major issues.
Finally, there is the final thorny issue of gear ratios. The simplest method to choose is to go with what you've got. Slap your old middle ring on its own on your cranks (NOTE - you will need to buy single speed chainring bolts, your old triple crankset ones will be too long. They're sometimes advertised as BMX bolts), and purchase yourself a rear sprocket. Depending on where you live, you'll want different sizes. In somewhere pretty flat, a 2:1 ratio should be fine (take a standard 32 tooth front ring, and pair it with a 16 tooth sprocket). But somewhere more hilly you might want to think about using an 18 or even 19 tooth rear sprocket. After you've ridden on a bunch of different terrains, you'll almost inevitably wind up with an old jam jar full of different size cogs (I even have a massive 25 tooth one I tore out of a cassette to race BUCS on last year). Talking about gear ratios though is a brilliant way to start an argument between SingleSpeeders. In reality, what's comfortable for you depends on a massive number of things like crank length, natural cadence, and type of terrain you're riding over. My advice is to start with 2:1, then buy a couple of other sizes so you're catered for most problems (sprockets are dead cheap).
There are various sites about that'll guide you through the process, though they're all a few years old now (which was the principle inspiration to setting up this blog). The two most informative I found are Triangle Mountain Bike and Sheldon Brown's bit on conversions. I disagree with some of the things said on both sites, most notably Sheldon's recommendation that you don't use rear disc brakes which I think would be a fairly courageous choice for technical singletrack use, especially in the wet.
The simplest, but most expensive way to ride single speed is just to buy yourself a dedicated single speed bike. OnOne do an excellent set of "rolling chassis" where they sell you a frame, a fork, and some wheels - leaving brake and saddle choice to you. Alternatively Genesis do a solid range of single speed bikes. Fortunately for all of us, as mountain biking has grown enormously in popularity over the last decade, more and more companies have been able to accommodate the outer fringes of the sport more and more (does anyone else dimly recall the nineties when one bike did everything, and the world championship downhillers wore lycra and sky diving goggles?) so gone are the days when getting a single speed mountain bike meant investing in a track frame, and bunch of rosary beads to make sure the thing didn't come apart on shaky descents.
But let's assume you're a bit more like me, and can't really justify buying a new bike, what do you have to do? Firstly, you have to take everything off. This means the front chainrings (keep the middle one, you'll need that in a bit - provided it's not too worn), derailleurs, cables, and rear cassette. Then take a look at your dropouts. Sheldon has a handy pictorial guide to them - but if you've got anything other than horizontal dropouts (we'll debate later whether we can legitimately call them "dropouts"), you're going to need a chain tensioner.
Chain tensioners come in all sorts of weird shapes and sizes, in a few weeks I'm going to do a more comprehensive article focussing on them, as I'm currently undertaking a long term test of a number of different designs. But as a beginner converter, you've got two realistic options: keep your rear derailleur, or buy a single speed conversion kit. Keeping your rear derailleur will add a little weight, but will be incredibly dependable, and maintain near perfect chain tension all the time. The research man-hours that big bike companies (probably either Shimano or SRAM in this case) can put into their components far outstrips that that small single speed companies can put in, producing components that are usually fairly bomb-proof. The other advantage to keeping your rear derailleur is that if you do horrify yourself with the monstrosity you turn your pride and joy into, you can always quickly reverse the changes and pretend nothing happened.
As for dedicated single speed conversion kits, the only one I can recommend (and I can't recommend it highly enough) is the kit by DMR. It comes with everything you need, a sprocket of a sensible size, spacers for your freehub body, and a chain tensioner. I raced and rode perfectly happily on this for a year with no major issues.
Finally, there is the final thorny issue of gear ratios. The simplest method to choose is to go with what you've got. Slap your old middle ring on its own on your cranks (NOTE - you will need to buy single speed chainring bolts, your old triple crankset ones will be too long. They're sometimes advertised as BMX bolts), and purchase yourself a rear sprocket. Depending on where you live, you'll want different sizes. In somewhere pretty flat, a 2:1 ratio should be fine (take a standard 32 tooth front ring, and pair it with a 16 tooth sprocket). But somewhere more hilly you might want to think about using an 18 or even 19 tooth rear sprocket. After you've ridden on a bunch of different terrains, you'll almost inevitably wind up with an old jam jar full of different size cogs (I even have a massive 25 tooth one I tore out of a cassette to race BUCS on last year). Talking about gear ratios though is a brilliant way to start an argument between SingleSpeeders. In reality, what's comfortable for you depends on a massive number of things like crank length, natural cadence, and type of terrain you're riding over. My advice is to start with 2:1, then buy a couple of other sizes so you're catered for most problems (sprockets are dead cheap).
Tuesday 15 March 2011
Why Single Speed?
Riding a single speed mountain bike will get you noticed. Line up on the start line of your local XC race, show up at a club ride, or churn up a muddy incline pushing cadence a quarter of your heart rate and someone will inevitably comment "wow... single speed? Brave!" Followed by (once you've calmed down, and caught your breath) the inevitable question: "So, why do you ride single speed?"
And you better have an answer - you're going to get asked this one a lot!
Though the answer is far from a simple one, because on the face of it - single speeding makes no sense. The invention of derailleur gears is widely regarded as one of the great leaps forward in bicycle technology in the 20th century, and the concession of the French to allow people to race using them an even bigger achievement (just look at the debate raging at the moment over aerodynamics to see how well the UCI respond to technology in bike racing). So why on earth would we throw away the brainwork and political wrangling of so many people? Gears make cycling easier, right?
Well, yes. Sort of.
The most obvious (and most commonly cited) reason for going solo is the weight saving. The rear cassette is a surprisingly hefty chunk of metal, as well as the gear shifting mechanisms, cables, casings and so on that you're no longer going to need. When I converted my 2008 Focus Fat Boy to single speed I took nearly a kilogram out of the weight of the bike - which was instantly noticeable climbing hills. (Though be ready, nearly all this weight is taken off the back of the bike which will move the centre of gravity forward - making the handling livelier).
The second most common reason is simplicity. With no rear mech to catch on rocks, no cables to clog with muck, and no twisting of the chain through shifting, a single speed mountain bike can go surprisingly long times between services. And you'll never be stuck in the middle of a field staring in consternation at your newly torn off derailleur, faced with the growing realisation that you're walking home.
Cost comes in to the equation too. As a student I can't really afford to maintain an all singing, all dancing race-ready superbike. But make it single speed, and there's only so much bike bling you can actually splash out on. Going back to converting my Fat Boy, what I in effect did was to take a very mediocre mountain bike, and by taking a few things off actually created a really quite good single speed mountain bike. Which is now very cheap to both ride and race (go ahead an compare the cost of replacing a cassette with replacing a single sprocket).
Beyond these very tangible reasons we enter the realm of personal experience. I've found that riding single speed has made me faster. It is going to hurt to climb hills, and you almost never find yourself in the right gear, which means there's a minimum speed to ride up every incline below which you can't physically rotate your legs (think involuntary power intervals). And there's no way you can wuss out and shift down towards the tail end of a race. You picked your gear before you started - you're now stuck with it! Which brings me to a slightly embarrassing point - that of vanity. Single speeding is harder and more painful than being able to shift gears, which does add to the smugness when you beat someone up a hill. And adds to the respect people will offer you at the top of said hill (in theory at least). But on that one day, when the incline was perfect and you're moving faster than your geared riding friends - it's a feeling difficult to match. (It's called a "scalp," ask the guys over at Silly Commuter Racing www.itsnotarace.org).
People also talk about "being more in contact with the trails," which strikes me as a little bit too mystic for my liking. Admittedly, you can't hide behind technology to conquer the hill, but if that's your train of thought, then why don't you buy yourself a pair of running shoes? However, it works for some people, so we'll leave them be.
Finally, a word should be said about the single speeding community. Choosing one gear (at least for me) was also influenced by choosing the sort of people to hang out with. We know it hurts, we know it's a bit daft, and we know we're unlikely to win large numbers of races like this - but we don't mind, and in many ways, revel in it. What other sport has world championships open to all comers, where the first prize is a compulsory tattoo? (The rules are, if you don't want the tattoo, then don't win). Where else would you find an almost obligatory "beer shortcut" in championship races? (Down a pint, and miss out a couple of miles of your next lap as a reward). We're a great bunch of friendly, muddy people, and would love you to come join us.
And you better have an answer - you're going to get asked this one a lot!
Though the answer is far from a simple one, because on the face of it - single speeding makes no sense. The invention of derailleur gears is widely regarded as one of the great leaps forward in bicycle technology in the 20th century, and the concession of the French to allow people to race using them an even bigger achievement (just look at the debate raging at the moment over aerodynamics to see how well the UCI respond to technology in bike racing). So why on earth would we throw away the brainwork and political wrangling of so many people? Gears make cycling easier, right?
Well, yes. Sort of.
The most obvious (and most commonly cited) reason for going solo is the weight saving. The rear cassette is a surprisingly hefty chunk of metal, as well as the gear shifting mechanisms, cables, casings and so on that you're no longer going to need. When I converted my 2008 Focus Fat Boy to single speed I took nearly a kilogram out of the weight of the bike - which was instantly noticeable climbing hills. (Though be ready, nearly all this weight is taken off the back of the bike which will move the centre of gravity forward - making the handling livelier).
The second most common reason is simplicity. With no rear mech to catch on rocks, no cables to clog with muck, and no twisting of the chain through shifting, a single speed mountain bike can go surprisingly long times between services. And you'll never be stuck in the middle of a field staring in consternation at your newly torn off derailleur, faced with the growing realisation that you're walking home.
Cost comes in to the equation too. As a student I can't really afford to maintain an all singing, all dancing race-ready superbike. But make it single speed, and there's only so much bike bling you can actually splash out on. Going back to converting my Fat Boy, what I in effect did was to take a very mediocre mountain bike, and by taking a few things off actually created a really quite good single speed mountain bike. Which is now very cheap to both ride and race (go ahead an compare the cost of replacing a cassette with replacing a single sprocket).
Beyond these very tangible reasons we enter the realm of personal experience. I've found that riding single speed has made me faster. It is going to hurt to climb hills, and you almost never find yourself in the right gear, which means there's a minimum speed to ride up every incline below which you can't physically rotate your legs (think involuntary power intervals). And there's no way you can wuss out and shift down towards the tail end of a race. You picked your gear before you started - you're now stuck with it! Which brings me to a slightly embarrassing point - that of vanity. Single speeding is harder and more painful than being able to shift gears, which does add to the smugness when you beat someone up a hill. And adds to the respect people will offer you at the top of said hill (in theory at least). But on that one day, when the incline was perfect and you're moving faster than your geared riding friends - it's a feeling difficult to match. (It's called a "scalp," ask the guys over at Silly Commuter Racing www.itsnotarace.org).
People also talk about "being more in contact with the trails," which strikes me as a little bit too mystic for my liking. Admittedly, you can't hide behind technology to conquer the hill, but if that's your train of thought, then why don't you buy yourself a pair of running shoes? However, it works for some people, so we'll leave them be.
Finally, a word should be said about the single speeding community. Choosing one gear (at least for me) was also influenced by choosing the sort of people to hang out with. We know it hurts, we know it's a bit daft, and we know we're unlikely to win large numbers of races like this - but we don't mind, and in many ways, revel in it. What other sport has world championships open to all comers, where the first prize is a compulsory tattoo? (The rules are, if you don't want the tattoo, then don't win). Where else would you find an almost obligatory "beer shortcut" in championship races? (Down a pint, and miss out a couple of miles of your next lap as a reward). We're a great bunch of friendly, muddy people, and would love you to come join us.
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