Idly flicking through my phone yesterday I did a bit of a double take when I realised that I’ve trained 21 times in the last seven days!! That’s 21 separate sessions. 21 times I’ve made the conscious (or semi-conscious) decision to get my kit on and do some kind of activity. 21 times I’ve left the comfort of a sofa, chair or bed and gone and done something more strenuous. Sweat, showers and washing superseding relaxtion and hibernation. It seems a bit surprising to admit to doing so much on the back of a blog where I declared (the truth)…
NOTE: This blog was originally written a year ago when outdoor spaces were being closed and tightly policed to effectively outlaw safe exercise for many. I’m glad to say that since then there seems to be an acceptance of the need for outdoor activities amongst most authorities, and many of the public are over the initial fear and are getting out into the parks, forests and mountains. However, I still witness many keyboard warriors and elected officials decrying those who choose to get out for essential headspace and physical wellbeing. Covid is obviously horrendous and measures are evidently required to…
Blacking Out A momentary loss of consciousness. Like a micro-sleep but without possible resistance. One minute hugging the right side of the twisting Alpine road and a split second later traversing the centre line; long-honed instincts righting the listing bike before smashing into the asphalt. Pull to a stop, head sagging, vision desperately seeking focus. Endgame. Make or break time. The devastating realisation that failure could be grabbed from a success so tangible at this final juncture. Caffeine. The drug of choice; a substance so potent it’d certainly be banned if not so prevalent. The only possible salvation, and yet…
Impending Gloom Thank Christ my legs felt good, spinning a steady tempo as the sweat wept from my brow, gradually forming blobs that dripped down the inside of sunglass lenses. This climb over half an hour old by now, definitely getting older by the minute. Redundant phone, no GPS signal and a trail ‘map’ that was an abstract masterpiece lacking essential detail. This ascent should apparently top out at Champoussin at 1580m but the Garmin altimeter had clicked way beyond that, the relief of reaching the peak tempered by the uneasy impression that dropping down the far side would guarantee…
Bunch of Arse Arses, everybody’s got one, fat, thin, wide, narrow, round, square, well… maybe not square, but we do all have one and they’re all different. And because of that, talking about comfort in a saddle review is basically wasted wordage so I’ll barely bother, one person’s fluffy bunny is another person’s barbed wire coated lump of granite. So, quick answer to the title, it’s a no for me, the Stanton Rigel saddle is not a pain in the arse at all. Even on saggy shorted epics, six hours of sitting on a sopping chamois chafing away at wrinkled…
Dropping In I waited patiently on the far side of the dusty track whilst the huddled armadillos shuffled to the edge of the wooden drop and peered into the abyss. Adrenaline just bubbling under a solid ceiling of focus, full commitment guaranteed. Machine-gun Spanish conversation incomprehensible, but the tone was clearly recognisable and matched the furrowed brows just visible below full-face lids. They backed away sheepishly, awkwardly manoeuvreing DH superbikes, opening a gap just wide enough to squeeze through. Half a pedal rev, small bunny hop to clear the gap and ‘whoosh, whump’ into the steep downhill landing fifteen feet…
But Why?…. Why the hell do I ride a hardtail? It’s not like it’s a puritantical stance against technological advance. If that were the case then I’d also still be on a 150mm stem, 540mm bars, 26″ wheels and those god awful tan wall tyres. Oh, wait, those have made a comeback?! Maybe the Flexstem and that batshit Slingshot bike with the wire for a down tube will be next, after all, fashion is cyclical. But bikes aren’t fashion (not for most of us anyway), they’re engineering, and sometime in the last three decades full-suspension frames have honed to an…
I’ll let you into a wee secret; I don’t look great naked. Pigeon chest, skinny arms, freakishly out of proportion calves balanced on delicate ankles, and you definitely don’t want to see my toenails! Maybe not the most alluring of images. Now obviously this is a subjective viewpoint, and one succumbing to the prescribed narrative of accepted beauty norms; but essentially when I wander round a swimming pool, the gathered ladies (and men) aren’t often peeking over the top of their shades for an eyeful of my chiselled torso. There was a time when first discovering a previously untapped aptitude…
Just a very quick article to blow our own trumpet! The medal says it all, the Rock and Ride blog has been awarded a place on the prestigious list of the top 100 cycling blogs on the internet! Delighted.
It’s 2:42am. I can’t sleep. The unfamiliar cocktail of caffeine and sugar is still coursing through me, synapses firing and thoughts swirling. I need to write, to understand, to analyse and for catharsis, the disappointment of yesterday’s race raw and grating. The chemical contaminants will work themselves through my system soon but the mental anguish will undoubtedly linger, festering on my psyche, why did it go so wrong? Overriding emotions from a whirlwind of a day. Disgust, loneliness, emptiness, dredging the depths of physical and mental reserves. To do so for victory, be it through winning or personal achievement feels…