Bad habits

I've been letting myself go a bit lately.  Well, not strictly myself.  Although I've sold all my Rapha gear on eBay, for reasons which I may well bore you with in a future post, I think I still cut a dash in my chosen mixture of ten-year old Assos and the best bits of the Prendas bargain bin.

It's my bike maintenance that's slacking.  When I commuted every day, my "work" bike would be cleaned and checked for wear, tear and potential problems at least once a week.  My "racing" bike -- which actually meant my "ride at the weekend if the sun's shining" bike would be washed down and checked after every outing. 

But pressures of self-employment and a new house mean they're lucky if they get a bucket of soapy water chucked over them now and then.  There's even less excuse now, because our new house features -- for the first time in my life -- a purpose designed bike workshop in the basement; it's only big enough for two bikes (plus my track frame on the wall), a stand, my tools, a kettle and a radio -- but it's a big improvement on the hallway or the garden. 

And the bikes are taking their revenge.  First, the frame cracked on my Tempo -- now the faults are lining up and nagging for attention.

I'd noticed a creaking from the Casati for a couple of weeks. 

In my experience, creaks should not be ignored.  A strange noise that appears to be coming from the front wheel usually means the cranks are about to fall off.  A clicking from around the bottom bracket is a sure sign that the headset is loose.  And, on one memorable occasion, what sounded like creaky handlebars on my Geoff Butler track frame was actually the seat-tube slowly detaching itself from the top-tube due to 30 years of accumulated internal rust.

Fifteen miles from home last week, I thought I'd give the Casati a once-over just to check where the creak was coming from.  I was disturbed to discover that half the spokes on the back wheel were the consistency of cooked spaghetti and it was rapidly turning oval.  Shamefaced, I re-trued it as best I could and limped home like a circus clown on a square-wheeled comedy bike.

So much for the bomb-proof old school 32-holers, although the fact that I've never once tuned them up may be partly to blame.

Stripping them down for a proper rebuild, I decided to swap the Vittoria Paves on to my winter fixed to replace the threadbare Conti Gatorskins.  Only then did I notice that the rear hub on my fixed was turning with all the smooth precision of a rusty gate post.  Five minutes with a pair of cone spanners got it spinning OK, but at the expense of a fractional amount of play -- sure sign of knackered bearings.  Again, a bit disappointing since it's only about 18-months old and hasn't had that hard a life.  

I've got a pair of ultra-strong 36-hole Mavic Open Pro track wheels which -- realistically -- are unlikely to be used in anger again; I should probably transfer them to my winter fixed but it seems an insult to them, and a final acceptance that my racing days -- such as they were -- are definitely over.