Shameless Trackies

Off to Manchester tomorrow, for the latest round of the Track World Cup.

It will be interesting to see whether the post-Beijing hysteria over track cycling has affected the event.  Apparently, tickets sold out in record time and many of those attending are likely to be first-timers.  Hope they're not disappointed.

Previous World Cups at the Velodrome have been really enjoyable -- exciting racing, well organised but with a laid back, friendly atmosphere and a chance to get close to the action and the riders.  Though not too close, obviously -- especially since Yvonne Hijgenaar's lawyers obtained an injunction preventing me from going within 100m of their client while she was wearing a skin-suit. 

I will be able to renew my acquaintance with the perfect training diet -- roast beef rolls with gravy, washed down by warm Boddington's -- an ideal combination of carbs, protein and fluid largely responsible for the success of the GB track squad.  Bradley Wiggins swears by it. 

I shall probably take the macbook with me and may even blog from the event -- just like a proper reporter.   I was sceptical about facilities "up North" but Mrs Flandrian, who's from round there, claims that things have changed and they've now got the internet and everything.

We shall see.

Pray for Fatty

Like thousands of others, I've been captivated by the writing of Elden Nelson, aka Fatty, and his blog.  He's written entertainingly about all aspects of cycling and movingly about his beloved wife's struggle with cancer.

Things are looking very dark now for Elden, Susan and their family.  

It feels as though we should be doing something, but of course there's little we can.  You can visit his blog and leave a message, as hundreds are doing. 

Or go out for a ride, preferably wearing your Fat Cyclist jersey, and thank whatever God you believe in for the continued well-being of those you love.  That's what I'll be doing tomorrow.

And  I'll be thinking of Fatty.

The importance of cool

Some intriguing cycling insights in November's Observer Sport Monthly.

First, top tailor and ex-roadie Sir Paul Smith on the importance of two-wheeled style:

"I remember when I started racing there was one boy who nearly always won and he'd got black socks instead of white socks.  Me and my friends were harassed by that 'How could he win? He's got black socks!'

Did you think of wearing black socks yourself?

"No, far too uncool. I'd sooner lose but look good.  No, that's not true. But the main thing with this boy was how brave he was. Even though I had a dream of being a professional cyclist, I would never have achieved it, because I'm not brave enough."

Sir Paul also admits, for the first time, that the horrendous crash that ended his racing career was probably caused by his "Buddy Holly" sunglasses -- which were so dark and thick-framed that he couldn't see where he was going.  Bet they looked cool, though.

Sunglasses were a rarity on British cyclists in the fifties and sixties -- a sure sign of a "Leaguer" and their funny continental ways.  Even when I started racing in the eighties, the majority of the pack were bare-eyed -- it took Greg Lemond and his huge-lensed Oakleys to make them acceptable.  And I still think the original Oakley Factory Pilots were the coolest cycling eyewear ever.  I had a blue pair and, despite their annoying tendency to lose their foam pads at critical moments, they were great.  Still available, for inflated sums, on E-bay.

Also in the magazine, an entertaining Q&A with triple Olympian Bradley Wiggins -- who displays a likeable obsession with various collectables: including scooters, guitars, boxing memorabilia and fancy shoes. 

"It's just what I am, whatever I go into I try to be the best at it....I have mad passionate periods discovering something and have to become a world expert on that". 

A male cyclist with obsessive tendencies, driven to take things to the extreme? I think that's most unusual, and will come as a surprise to the relatives of cyclists everywhere.

Heroes Pt.2

It's not often that I'm excited by encountering an inanimate object, but getting your hands on the FA Cup is genuinely a once-in-a-lifetime moment.   Eldest son and I were determined to have the moment recorded, especially since -- as a number of helpful bystanders pointed out -- it was the closest that two Crystal Palace fans were ever likely to get to it again.

We were at FA Headquarters for a very special occasion -- a reception for Geoff Thomas's New York Marathon team.   Geoff's story is well known: former Crystal Palace and England footballer, diagnosed with leukemia, makes a full recovery and -- partly inspired by Lance Armstrong -- decides to ride the route of the Tour De France to raise money for research. Having done that twice, he's still seeking new challenges -- hence the NY Marathon.

His team includes some well-known cycling figures including Brian Smith, Anthony McCrossan and Stephen Roche, who -- according to a well-placed insider last night -- has lost a lot of weight in training and is set for a respectable time.

Highlight of our evening was meeting Geoff in person -- a truly modest, inspiring man whose relaxed and friendly exterior clearly hides a steel determination.

The Geoff Thomas Foundation is aiming to raise £20 million over the next five years to fund early clinical trials of new blood cancer therapies.  Please consider donating money to this excellent cause.

And somewhere after the second beer, I think I may have expressed an interest in riding London to Paris next year.  Damn.  Here we go again.

Heroes

Later this week, my son and I may get to meet one of our great sporting heroes.  If it happens, readers of this blog can expect a full report and photos.  All three of you.

After twenty years or so as a journalist, I'm a little ambivalent about fame and celebrity. I've interviewed enough so-called heroes to have realistic expectations.  Some (Billy Bragg, Tanni Grey-Thompson, Tony Benn) have proved to be everything I hoped they would be.  Some (who shall remain nameless) have proved themselves to be complete a-holes. 

Twenty years ago, I interviewed a Living Cycling Legend.  He turned out to be charming, modest and funny,  but it was a short conversation before the interview that has stuck in my mind.  I was notionally interviewing him about his auto-biography which had been, inevitably, ghost-written by a journalist.

Me:  I really enjoyed the book.  (Writer) has done a great job -- it's not like most sports autobiographies, he's really managed to make it sound like you.

Living Cycling Legend:  Yes, I think he's done well. Loads of people have said that it sounds just like me.

Me: I imagine that must be an odd sensation -- what did you think when you first read the book?

LCL: Oh, I haven't read it.  

Me: But it's your autobiography -- the story of your life.  How can you not read it?

LCL: I suppose it is a bit odd. But I've never been one for the books.

Me: Err...but aren't you even a bit curious about what it says?

LCL:  Not really. (Long pause)  I did read a book once, though.  "Raise the Titanic", it was. Very interesting.  I enjoyed it.

Me:  But not enough to...

LCL: Read another one?  No, it's not for me.  Actually, I did read another book.  Can't remember the title now.  It was about the Titanic as well.  Didn't finish it, though.

Me (genuinely lost for words): Err....OK, shall we start the interview?

It's always struck me as an intriguing insight into the peloton, and a clear explanation of why Laurent Fignon was known, largely because he wore glasses and occasionally read a book without pictures, as The Professor.

 

Forza Paolo

I was flicking through the most recent copy of Rouleur the other day -- time passes slowly at Flandrian Towers and I've only just got round to reading it.  Is it just me, or is this copy heavy on arty photographs of fans but a bit light on, you know, words.  About cycling.  Not being picky, but I rather hoped for more for my nine quid.

Good article in there about iconic jerseys, though -- apparently the first of a two-part series.  I got to thinking about my favourite jerseys of all time and soon realised there's only one that works for me.

In the early eighties, Paolo Garbini, with his wife Mariela, ran a tiny, chaotic bike shop in the heart of London's Soho.  It's hard now to recall quite how different cycling was back then.  The mountain-bike boom was yet to happen, there were no indexed-gears, STI-levers or clipless pedals.  Jerseys were mainly wool or a gruesome knitted polyester and the chamois pads in shorts were real goat.

Local bike shops were core to the scene, their character usually set by the idiosyncrasies and eccentricities of their owners.  And there were few more idiosyncratic and eccentric than Paolo.

Short, skinny and red-haired, it was impossible to guess Paolo's age -- although he and Mariela had a teenage daughter who helped out in the shop.  His battle-worn but immaculate Alan-framed bike was prominently displayed by the door, and Paolo invariably wore cycling shorts and a jersey in the shop; but he was rarely spotted riding.  Most often he would be found sitting on the doorstep or in his tiny curtained office -- smoking his foul-smelling pipe.

From this shop, packed with exotic Italian jerseys, Campagnolo components in their beige cardboard packaging, walls lined with cuttings from the Gazetto Dello Sport, Paolo also ran the Soho Cycling Club, a loose collection of serious racers and weekend warriors -- popular with many of the expatriate Italians who worked in Soho's restaurant and catering trade.

On Sunday mornings, a ragbag of riders would meet outside the shop before setting off for a traditional 80-mile club run through the minor roads and hills of Kent or Surrey.  Often Paolo would join us, on the front of the group, swearing, telling long incomprehensible stories in English and engaging the Italian members in loud arguments.

It was my first proper club and I wore, and raced in, its jersey with pride.

The club, and Paolo's shop, are long gone but the jersey lives on.  In the Italian champion's colours, covered with the names of our local sponsors, including the iconic Bar Italia coffee house, it's still the most stylish and frequently admired item of bike clothing I own. 

And it's still in use at least once a week, although it fits a little more snugly than twenty years ago.

It's a retro thing

I'm not sure I completely get some aspects of the current upsurge in retro bike clothing.  In particular, where's it going to stop?

I can understand the fascination with Molteni, Faema and even Peugeot.  You may just be advertising  sausages and coffee machines but they're design classics, icons from a simpler time when team kits didn't scream a thousand mixed messages.

From a later era, the Del Tongo and Brooklyn jerseys are still stylish and timeless.  

But now we're being urged to buy "classic" PDM and Reynolds kit and I'm not sure I'm with that particular programme.  Still less do I buy the idea that Mapei holds any magic.  Not only does it make you look like you've been attacked by a colour-blind madman with a box of Sharpies, it's now generally accepted that the team were a bunch of cheating toe-rags.

I'm surprised that one of the truly iconic '80's team kits, the Mondrian-inspired La Vie Claire-Look outfit, hasn't been made available.  It was one of the first to be widely adopted by "ordinary" riders, and I still regret throwing out my multi-coloured winter training jacket. Knowing the history of team owner Bernard Tapie, it's likely that some complicated legal issue lies behind its non-appearance.

Presumably, issues over copyright logos lie behind the design philosophy of New Zealand brand Solo.  They produce high-end, sublimation printed jerseys in national colours, featuring the logos of made-up brands.   If I find the idea of riding round dressed as a billboard for a Spanish central heating firm odd, I find it even odder that you'd want to advertise an imaginary Belgian beer.  But the jerseys look nice, and they're Kiwis, so I suppose we should cut them some slack.

It's probably safe to assume that some team kits will never be reissued.   Aqua e Sapone anyone?  Thought not.  Though I do think that, after the eyeball-searing horrors of the 90's,  kit design is going through a relatively tasteful phase, perhaps reflecting  a wider understanding of decent design among the general public.

In this month's Cycle Sport, there's a reminder of one truly ghastly kit that had been wiped from my memory.  I thought that Carrera Jeans' attempt to make their riders look as though they were wearing stone-washed denims was a low-point in cycling fashion, but I'd forgotten Castorama.

The French DIY chain designed their shirt and jerseys to look like workmens' blue bib overalls. 

Check out the Maurizio Fondriest article in Cycle Sport, and the photo with Laurent Fignon in the background.

Imagine the shame.  You are a two-time winner of the Tour De France, generally recognised as one of the coolest, most stylish racers ever.  You exude chilly Parisian chic and, with your gold rimmed glasses and ponytail, you would look entirely at home in the Deux Magots, arguing existentialism with Jean Paul and Simone.

Then your employer forces you to dress like Bob the Builder.  Tragic, truly tragic.

Good News...

...I think.  

Decent bike shops are thin on the ground, even in a city the size of London.  Condor are reliably well-stocked and the staff know what they're talking about, though you'd be looking at their prices for a very long time before you mistook them for cheap.

Some people swear by Mosquito Bikes or Sigma Sport -- though they're in the wrong part of town for me, and Cyclefit in Covent Garden has its fans as well.   Further out of town, there's the excellent Geoff Butler in Croydon and Pearsons down in Sutton. 

Years ago, FW Evans in Waterloo was a haven for roadies -- before the Evans brand grew like Topsy and became a  characterless nationwide retail chain.

There were a couple of other Evans branches in those days, but everyone knew that the one in "The Cut" was for the hardcore.  If you wanted serious racing bikes - new and secondhand, proper own-brand touring machines or bomb-proof handbuilt wheels, then Evans Waterloo was the place.

I bought a couple of excellent 531 racing frames there in the 'Eighties, and was once nearly talked into buying an aluminium, Colnago-badged, ex-pro-team bike which I suspect may have seen hard service in the Northern Classics and would probably have come unglued by the time I reached the Elephant and Castle roundabout.

In recent years, it's become just another bike shop, full of hybrids and anonymous Taiwanese racers but it's now going through a re-brand -- being advertised as "a road-riders paradise" with an emphasis on top road bikes and parts.

Good business sense, I suspect, given the explosion in road bike sales over the past year or so -- but good news as well for London's roadies.