Timely reminder

Woe! Twice woe! My lovely Condor Tempo is no more.

I was washing it last week and trying to work out if I could go a bit longer without adjusting the chain tension and changing the back tyre when I noticed a tiny crack in the paint around the seat-tube cluster.   Alarmingly, there was another - even smaller - one on the other side.

Hoping it was just a paint blemish, I took it into Condor this afternoon -- only to have the sad news confirmed.  Mine appears to be one of a small batch of steel frames with a manufacturing fault which leads to cracked seat tubes.  

To their credit, Condor seem to be handling it well.  There are no Tempo frames of the right size in stock at the moment, so they'll rebuild my parts onto a Pista frame (more track oriented, no mudguard clearance) and I can ride that until the next shipment arrives sometime in December.  Then I get a new bike.

The new Tempos are dark blue, apparently, instead of the tasteful Saronni-red that mine came in -- but I think I can live with that.

I'll miss it though -- it was a great all-round, all-weather bike which was increasingly becoming my bike of choice for all kinds of riding, not just urban commuting.

And a reminder of how important it is to wash and check your bike frequently.  It's the second time I've discovered a cracked frame like that -- far better than finding it on a downhill.

More random velo-memories

• Jason Kenny brought down in a crash with his Australian opponent just yards from the line, crossing it at speed on his backside and still having the presence of mind to fling his arms up in victory celebration.  That's class.
• Kenny and Perkins sustained some nasty-looking cuts and bruises in that crash -- which would have kept me off the bike for a couple of weeks.  The pair of them were back at it the next day, riding just as hard and just as close.
• The music reaching newly absurd heights.  German victory in the Madison brought a rare outing for Nena's Cold War anthem "99 Luftballons" and any mention of the JKA Keirin was an excuse to dust off the Vapors' masturbation hymn "Turning Japanese".  The one occasion they got it gloriously right?  The GB men's pursuit team cruised round on their victory lap to the strains of "The Boys are Back in Town".  Not a dry eye in the house.
• There's an old fella with a shaggy perm whose sole job appears to be to wipe down the Belgian women's team with a damp flannel after each race.  You never see jobs like that advertised, do you?
• The sheer physical effort -- as well as the danger -- of the racing.  One of the German women was on her back by the finish line for a good ten minutes before she was able to get up and walk unsteadily back to her pit area; worse, a young Hong Kong 500m time-trial competitor who took even longer to stagger back, like some late night drunk, collapsing to her knees every couple of yards.
• Dave Brailsford, GB Cycling supremo, stood next to us as young Matt Crampton stormed to victory in a Keirin heat -- apparently utterly unemotional even as the crowd went hysterical. Another day in the office, with his team doing what they're expected to do. 
• Typical. Just when I think I've got a clear shot of the British Cycling stand -- three grinning idiots come along and spoil it.

Same Old Song

Cycling and bad music go together like Gin and Tonic.  Or, to put it in an appropriately Manchester context, chips and gravy. 

The caravan which precedes the Tour de France peloton is accompanied by fromage-dripping accordion musak, and the continental Six-Days are ridden against a background of high-octane commercial techno.  

But the music selection at today's Track World Cup hit new heights of audio weirdness and whoever was behind it is either a genius or seriously disturbed.

I'd grown used to the, frankly barmy,  idea of playing "Zorba's Theme" for primes and the hackneyed "We Will Rock You" to hype crowd tension before match sprints but today we entered the Twilight Zone.

The merest hint of an Italian rider was greeted with blasts of the outrageously stereotypical Mambo Italiano (sample lyrics "Hey Mambo, don't want a tarantella, Hey Mambo, no more mozarella"). 

And any rider from Holland was serenaded with a bizarre oompah tune of mysterious origin. Despite having quite a lot of family in the Netherlands, my Dutch is non-existent, so the song may well be a stirring patriotic call to arms. Or it may translate as "Hey, fatty in the orange suit, you know you're very slow, pull up the banking now (oompah, oompah)", in which case I applaud a subtle piece of multi-lingual sledging. 

In the course of a single men's sprint match we were treated to extracts of a Strauss waltz, Joey Ramone's cover of "What a Wonderful World", SL2's "On a Ragga Tip" and Blur's "Parklife" -- a playlist of such a determinedly eclectic nature that it wouldn't have disgraced the late John Peel.

The other repetitive tune of the day, of course, was God Save the Queen (not the Sex Pistols' version) which was played at every single one of the victory ceremonies.  How long is it going to be before the other cycling nations do the two-wheeled equivalent of "taking their ball back" and refuse to play with us any more?

I tried again to get a picture of the British Cycling stand, but a Paul Weller look-alike contest was taking place.  As you can see, the winner was quite convincing.

 

Random Thoughts from the velodrome

• Among the many things I never thought I'd see in my lifetime? Ticket touts outside a track cycling event.  I've been to some track races (alright, I've ridden some of them) where the number of people circling the banking on bikes outnumbered the number of people watching. But yesterday afternoon, as we made our way to the Velodrome, there were a couple of scallies in smart casuals offering tickets at inflated prices.  
• Another? Two immaculate Colnagos, leaning unlocked outside a Manchester McDonalds. Their owners, riders from Hong Kong's track team, were missing no opportunity to stock up on carbs and essential fats. 
• Clearly, some of the crowd here are newcomers -- struggling with many of the arcane intricacies of track racing.  To be fair, halfway through the men's scratch race I gave up trying to work out which riders were a lap up, who was two laps up and who was off the back and resorted to shouting "Come on, Bradley", with everyone else.
• Although it's a partisan crowd, cheering all British riders to the rafters, it's also a knowledgeable one which recognises quality riding above everything else.  The cheers for Francois Pervis when the Cofidis rider edged Jason Kenny by less than a tyre's width in an exciting keirin final were genuine and generous.
• Victoria Pendleton is awesome.  Just awesome.  Without taking anything away from her at all, you can see her opponents visibly giving up the minute she starts turning on the power.   
• I wanted to get a picture of the nice new British Cycling stand by the South Curve, but some fat bloke was being interviewed in front of it.

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.