I have always considered that the essence of what defines a person’s intellect to be either engaging or as dull as an Australian politician is the degree of reflexivity inherent in that intellect. A reflexive intellect is one that recognises that other points of view are not only possible, but that you might actually be wrong!. And if you are open to the possibilities of being wrong, you are likely to be open to the possibilities of learning! I enjoy the company and conversation of people who genuinely enjoy being challenged by new ideas and/or having existing mental models challenged. I don’t enjoy any kind of conversation with people who have closed minds. But then again, the latter usually only converse with rubber stamps or tick boxes to be checked.
This is quite pathological with me. I really, really, do not enjoy the company of dull witted types who’s idea of argument is to put a position on the table and then proceed to stick their fingers in their ears while you waste your time arguing to the contrary. Or worse, who don’t bother to reason why I might be wrong other than to say that I am wrong and that my arguments are ‘bull’…
I know more than a few people like this. Sometimes they have other redeeming characteristics. Usually they don’t. But things get really bad when these dull wits have managed to sludge their way into some sort of empowerment wherein their stupefyingly robotic mental models can be asserted over others. My local council (The Armidale Dumaresq Council) is utterly bloated with this kind of stupefying dullard. You will know the kind immediately, I am sure. These are the kind who claim that we must comply with some inane regulation or requirement ‘because the rules say so’.
My last encounter with the Planning staff at this council left me looking up membership forms for the Misanthropist Society. We had a road that connected to a new house we wanted to build. But that road did not have clearly specified access rights (despite the fact that it was our road on our land). So this asylum for the mentally deranged decided we had to build a new road at the cost of $20,000 or be refused permission to occupy our new house. I had a one hour conversation with the head Planner involved. I wanted to know why we couldn’t use our existing road to access our new house. ‘Because it is illegal’. Why? Because it is illegal. Why is it illegal? Because it is. But why? Because the title deeds don’t specify your rights of access. But it is our land and our road. Does not matter, the Title Deeds don’t say so. Well, add some words to the Deeds. Can’t. Why? Because. Why? … In the end we had to build a new road because us spending $20,000 was easier for Council then it was for Council to add those words to the Deeds. Why? Because no one knew how. There was no real pathway with neon sign posts to show these dim wits how to proceed. No path, no journey. You can’t expect a robot to clear a new path when his programming neglects to support a challenge such as active thought.
My one time university (the University of New England) was also bloated by mental unimpressives of this kind. The second from last boss of that now appalling degree-factory-with-delusions-to-relevance operated on the astoundingly inane premise that whatever happened in his last university should now happen to the one over which he now had the reins: to shut down any research group not in a faculty silo. Why? Because! That’s why. So out I went along with all my students. It might sound strange, but I found as big a dearth of intelligent life at that university as I found at our local Council. The dullards are in control. One place feeds the other. Literally.
And here is the rub. When the dullards mange to grab empowerment, they empower themselves over recruitment. And if there is one thing a dullard likes is even duller dullards under him or herself to control. So recruitment processes proceed along the lines of an ever descending spiral of stupidity until the point when an entire organisation becomes one big turgid bloat of dullards with the collective intellectual breadth of a beach sponge. Professors who should inspire us with the mind of a mental gymnast are, instead, more like the intellect in your local Automatic Teller Machine. Try to conduct an intellectually provocative argument with an ATM and you will just have your card confiscated. Try to conduct and intellectually provocative argument with one of these new generation professors and you will have your career terminated. Just like happened to me.
You can understand why the robot brains are taking over. If you are in charge of an organisation, and you have a mind with less capacity for intellectual creativity than a traffic light, you will hardly be wanting to appoint more creative thinkers than you as your deputies, will you! I reckon you can always pick the character of an organisation through interviewing that organisation’s leader. I should have known my career was on the skids when I first met this new university head. I have met more inspiring carrots. I should have known we were in for it with our new house when I first met the General Manager and the Mayor of our so-called local council. The intellectual lights are definitely out in both organisations.
Yes, dullards can be dangerous.
Cycling, for me, is my escape. This is just about the only place where I can fly outside the gravitational anchors of the robo-brained dull-wits-in-charge.
Think about it. Just imagine being allowed to take a F1 grand prix car out for a spin on a public road. Yeah right. But that’s precisely what we can do with our Pro-Tour racing bikes. Breathtaking!
Yes, we have to wear helmets, and have to obey the traffic rules. But, for most practical purposes, we can ride at the limits of our power and still stay legal. Try that in a car. Even if we do speed, we are not required to have a speedometer on-board so can plead ignorance (despite the Garmin 510 with second by second incriminating evidence if only Mr Plod knew…). We don’t have to ride with a number! Where else in society can we play without a number through which rule enforcers can enforce their rule? We can get away with things like carbon wheel braking (aka, no brakes when it rains) and glue on tyres. We can avoid obstacles that leave the car trolls holed up for hours simply by dismounting, hopping a fence or barrier, or weaving through the metallic mess they cause when they bash into each other rather than into us. Just imagine having to have our bikes inspected by bureaucrats with clip boards once a year. Just imagine if the OH&S ATM Brains were put in charge of designing road rules for cyclists and the bikes we ride. Just imagine what an OH&S bicycle would look like!! Just imagine how it would ride…
And then there is the breathtaking lack of regulations over the engines we cyclists use. No emissions controls, no caps on horse power. No catalytic converters and silenced exhausts. Indeed, government campaigns exist to encourage us to keep adding ever more horses in our corsets. The world’s most powerful cycling engine is every bit as legal as the most feeble. We don’t have to pay penalty insurance premiums as our watts go up. We don’t have to reduce our air intakes to constrain our power. Where else is power so unconstrained as it is for we cyclists? And, even if you don’t consider regulations and rule making, where else does performance remain so unconstrained by use? With a car, engines wear out and servicing costs go up with use. By and large, for cyclists, increased use only makes us go faster and longer! (Within constraints, as Strava over-performers will no doubt confirm). Where else are the curves for costs and rewards so skewed in our favour as with cycling? Yes, cycling defies the axioms of economics in a most reassuring way!
Yes, we have many of the freedoms car drivers once had back in the 1950’s and before. Yes, we are not entirely un-constrained. But those constraints are nowhere near as intrusive as they are for any other road user. Basically, I am amazed that in this era of robot-brained idiocracy that we are actually allowed to use the road at all. I certainly have encountered many many car drivers who are also amazed at this too; and do everything they can to redress the problem by trying to run us off the road.
Often times I think that riding my Wilier Zero.7 on the road is some kind of glorious aberration. I should enjoy it while I can, before the bureaucrats finally have their way. Can such an endeavour as riding a high performance bike on a public road really be a long-term pleasure? I ride like each day will be the last that such a thing will be allowed. Often, I think that riding is like receiving a lottery win on the wrong ticket. We have the money but surely, someone will pick up on the mistake and ask for the money to be returned. Can such a pleasure that is so profoundly at odds with the ordered, rule-bound machine world of bureaucracy continue so profoundly under the radar of its reach? I ride like someone who has stolen something. I am getting so paranoid that I even feel guilty after a fast hard ride. What? Haven’t they banned this yet? Really? Wow. Off for another ride before some bureau-brain fills this hole in the social fabric matrix of our machine ruled world.
I know I am being controversial, but I think we are getting dangerously close to the end-of-cycling-days every time some bureaucrat orders the construction of a new cycleway.
Maybe cycle ways work where you are, but around here they are simply an exercise of bureaucratic contempt; an exercise in ‘harmonising’ we cyclists into the matrix of ordered rules that has squashed the life out of everything else that once gave us pleasure. Building a cycle way usually involves painting a stencilled bicycle logo on what was otherwise the shoulder of a road. We are then expected to cycle on the glass/gravel detritus that car drivers effuse as part of the pollution package they dump wherever they go. We are expected to ride on road shoulders used by cars to park or otherwise decompose. Worse still, we are expected to share these ‘cycleways’ with pedestrians, wobbling casual pre-cyclists and worst of all, ebikers!; and all at speeds half that at which we can cruise on the road. My main worry is that once installed, the legislators frequently insist that we have to use a cycleway when one is available. I am not going to start riding a pedestrian infested gravel trap on my 120psi 23c tyres any time soon.
But where there is a cloud, the sun also often shines. I dream of the ‘metre matters’ metric being turned into law. Just imagine if the car trolls could actually be fined for brushing our handle bars or wing mirroring us into a ditch. This would be a veritable culture shifting catalyst for driver behaviour, especially if that new rule were to be ruthlessly enforced. I am sure the very next must have gadget for our handlebars would be a combination one metre radar detector and number plate recording device with satellite streaming to police stations everywhere! I can dream, can’t I?
I rather suspect that the reason for our relative freedoms on the road is more to do with the ‘monolith effect’ than it is to do with any laxities in rule maker diligence. By monolith I refer to that wondrous black slab that appears in front of the pre-bone weilding cave men in the film 2001. Any attempt to control we cyclists with the comforts of deep litter rules must hurt the brains of diligent mono-tracking rule makers just like making sense of the black monolith must have been to those pre-historic man-apes in the film. But once they did consider and enter the gateway, evolution went through a worm drive upgrade. I wonder what kind of a brain shift might happen to otherwise rule-bound dull thinking bureaucrats should they fall through the monolith into a life of active cycling. I rather think the effect would be like flying. They would be reborn in some mysterious hotel room into the higher plane of creative, reflexive thinking that had hitherto been evolutionarily denied by the dystopian rule-bound bog within which they currently primordially wallow.
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Facebook? Phooey. Phaw. Here I am… I’m eating Maccas and guzzling Coke. My favourite colour is puce and my favourite band is … Gee whiz. Fancy that. I keep hearing the bleating of 1 billion sheep.
Strava? Now we are talking. Today I crushed five King of the Mountain records before expiring from exhaustion in the middle of the road… Here is the map of my ride and here are my KOM’s for you to try. Go on, I dare you… And I am in 237th place in Australia (out of 18,000 people on the current list) for people my age in terms of average weekly distance ridden. Now we are talking! Yes.
If you are going to expose your egotism issues, what better place could there be? CAN you stand out on Facebook? You sure can on Strava!
Consider this. What is the biggest metric for how totally brilliant you are on Facebook? Number of followers, that’s what. Now consider the kinds of people with a huge following. Shakria with 71, 397, 098? Lady Gaga 59 million. And, yes, I am not making this up: Coca Cola 73 million. Are they serious? 73 million followers of a vomitous lolly water drink? Really? What stimulation do these followers receive by way of response? If these deadheads would follow a bottle of Coke, I bet the’d follow Adolf Hitler if he reincarnated into the next iteration of Justin Bieber (56,849,339, and counting, like sheep, in your sleep).
Is there anything more pointless than this?
I reckon I can outperform a bottle of Coke…
If you are going to suffer egotistical neuroses, why not head to a social networking site that encourages exercise rather than the doubtless delights of following a bottle of Coke. Stava is the social network for people with something to actually boast about. Followers are earned. Pedigrees are created rather than claimed. Does Facebook test your assertions to fame? Strava does. You have to submit data to climb in that social crowd!
Just in case there is someone reading this who, perchance, does not know what Strava is, let me briefly explain. Strava is the website to which you connect your Garmin cycling device (or iPhone). When you go for a ride, you upload your data and you get to see all the essentials neatly plotted out on a map. Totals are tallied and you get a cumulative score. You can see how far you have ridden today, this week or this year. You can compare and contrast with your records from the past. Your rides are broken down into their constituent hills. And then the fun starts. You are given timings for the most exciting segments of your ride (like hills or circuits or stretches of note) and the times for other people who have ridden the same segments in the past (Strava finds these comparisons automatically). You are automatically ranked. If you have the best time, you are awarded a King of the Mountain (KOM) time. And a ‘suffer score’. There are now millions of Strava subscribers so you are comparing yourself with a pretty large pool.
But that’s not all. You don’t have to compete. You can simply use Strava to keep your records and keep track of your training progress. And you can explore the routes, courses or the rides of others in your area or in areas to which you might be planning a visit. You can download these courses and install them in your device. Then you can follow the route and maybe not get lost. But there is more! You can chat and interact with others with a similar mind. You can share and brag to your heart’s delight. This is a great place to set up a group ride. It is a great place to discover fellow riders you might like to meet. You can use your records to keep on track with various goals Strava allows you to set. You can compete in public challenges or simply set a weekly goal for yourself. You don’t even have to make your rides public if your ego is well under control!
Strava is free. Except when you decide to pay AUD$60 per year to add power recording, route making and suffer scoring to your list. But most of Strava is free for all. It’s the lowest priced drug in town.
Strava is for boasting and posing about stuff that’s real and for stuff that you have genuinely achieved. Facebook is for all those car drivers out there. If you are such a loser that harassing cyclists with your 40 tonne SUV is the only source of egotistical reward, Facebook is the place for you. You can rant on about cyclists all you like on your Facebook page. You can form a cyclist hate goup and work yourself into a sweat (the only sweat you’re likely to get in this crowd). You can become a cluster of muttering tossers like trolls in a cave. Or you can become a Strava elite!!
But let’s not get carried away. Strava is dangerous. Strava is the next great opportunity for dopers and cheats. I can see it now.
Some I know (not me of course!) will do ANYTHING to wrest a KOM from someone else. Strava has given rise to a new breed of cyclist; a breed I’d rather not find out on the road: the Strava Troll. Strava Trolls search out inane little KOM’s they reckon they can steal. They drive their cars to the bottom of a likely Strava hill, unpack their bike and ride each challenge without the context of having to ride there first. The Strava Trolls seek out KOM’s that are off the regular cycling routes. They seek out KOM’s held by hybrid bike riders or lower (you can see what bikes a rider has used in the segment reports these Trolls so like to read). Strava Trolls avoid routs used by pro cyclists and the like. They hit the hills for which they have the best possible chance for a kill.
Some Strava folk are in a perpetual sweat; they develop anxiety over their KOM records and monitor them like guards on a castle wall. Life is suspended to defend an attack.
All Strava diehards live in perpetual terror of a cycling pro firebombing their KOM routes.
I can see the day, if that day is not already here, when dopers move into the Strava scene. I can see a new market for EPO. I can see some folk hitting themselves up for an enhanced Strava raid. I can see midnight marauders. I can see records taken on the tail winds of hurricanes. (Which is how I explain every KOM record that is taken away from me!). I can even see Strava riders getting a tow up killer KOM record hills through hanging on to a friend’s motorbike or car; under the cover of dark, or through some other nefarious scheme. Recall that Maurice Garin, winner of the very first Tour de France, was caught out cheating on the second Tour though hopping on a train. Such tactics are bound to start blighting the Strava scene!
I can see the UCI starting to police Strava record taking . And that would not be before time!
As I write this, I am wondering if someone has taken my hill from this morning’s ride? I am wondering how long I can resist checking my email for the dreaded message that my record is lost!
I am starting to think that there is a point to Facebook after all. How cozy it must be to simply worry about competitive colour choice, band preferences and messages detailing who is in hospital and who is not. Sounds like a much more relaxing place to be…
Oh, and my Strava page is strava.com/athletes/roderic_gill Don’t you dare take away my hills!
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WIth a more than well stocked shed, these days I am only ever on the market for a new bike when an old one breaks or something absolutely exceptional comes along. Or when I am offered a bike to test ride.
Living as I do in an area with equal measure of rural car-lean dirt and sealed roads, not to mention a fortune of off-road riding opportunities that I have hitherto neglected to exploit even to a reasonable minimum, I tend to devote my cycling pleasures pretty evenly between road and mountain biking. I could not live without either and reckon that having the choice keeps my cycling passions alive; mountain and road biking are far enough apart in terms of experience to stop cycling from ever becoming a chore.
Plus, when you allow both road and mountain bikes into your pool, the landscape of stuff over which to geek out is wonderfully broad! I can get just as excited by the astounding perfection of Campagnolo’s (relatively) recent Super Record EPS as I can by SRAM’s gut bustingly brilliant XX1.
So when I spotted my first ever KTM hard tail mountain bike in my local cycling store, I suspect that I must have become something like Toad of Toad Hall: mesmerised; because an hour passed for which I still can’t account.
Like most people with at least a passing interest in off road adventure motorcycling, KTM is one of the main range peaks. Their machines are purposeful, efficient, high performance and expensive. So, not knowing that KTM were also into bicycles, seeing this machine was cause enough to stop and stare. Unlike those badge engineered bikes from Ferrari, Aston Martin and the like, KTM is a serious bicycle maker and has been since the 1960′s. Though the motorcycle and bicycle divisions are completely separate, there is a definite cross over in terms of highly intentional, engineering-first design, a fixation on performance and that wonderful corporate KTM colour scheme! Orange on (carbon) black is my favourite combination and, as far as I know, unique to KTM.
You can’t miss the KTM Myroon 29er bike in any crowd. The frame on this thing is utterly unique.
I love hard tails. I have always preferred them to their dual suspension counterparts. I love the relatively greater manoeuvrability and the potential for a stiffer frame. I love the more direct transmission of power (without the energy sponging that a rear shock usually imposes between the pedals and the rear wheel). I have a theory that us roadies will tend towards hard tails for the more ‘road bike’ like manners that an unsuspended rear usually provides. But hard tails are also a vastly better option for hard fast rides on our endless local dirt roads and fire trails. I love the relative simplicity of a hard tail over the complications of all those linkages and other moving bits that a dual suspension bike necessitates. And best of all, I love the speed. I will always contend that a good hard tail with always be faster than a good dual susser, on fast open trails. Horses for courses though. Dual suspended bikes still rule in the rough stuff and KTM have a range of double bouncers as well.
So, as you can now understand, I am preconditioned to noticing an interesting hard tail when I see one. And this KTM is the most interesting bike I have seen in years.
For starters, the frame is a seriously purposeful, no compromise XC racing machine and XC is my favourite blend. I love going up hills, vastly more than going down. I love going fast and I have a general disinclination to rough single track. My biases are all tuned to the minimal travel hard tail racing side of things, even when I choose not to race. That’s probably because of my dual bike sport passions (road and mountain).
The first, most interesting feature of the new (ish) KTM is the cleverness of its design. Like so many new road bikes of late, the Myroon 29er frame is designed to flex a bit through the seat stays. Actually, you can watch the stays move vertically when you give the seat tube a good horizontal push. That gives the bike an extra degree of suspension without the cost of extra weight and tricky moving bits, and without, necessarily, adding any undesirable frame flex that gets between your pedals and power applied to the real wheel. That works for my Wilier Zero.7 and Merida Scultura SL road frames. And it certainly works for the KTM Myroon 29er. The KTM Myroon carbon layup includes some secret sauce to produce this intentional flex. I believe KTM is using flax in its composite mix to achieve this aim.
As standard, the Myroon 29er comes with a pretty modest kit. The drive train is Shimano 2×10 SLX with an XT rear derailleur. (There is no way I would ever, ever, consider a triple chain ring mountain bike these days -2×10 is the second best thing to happen to mountain bikes in recent years. 1×11 is better still…). Brakes are also SLX. Nothing wrong with that. Shimano SLX is the greatest bang for the buck you could put on any bike; it works flawlessly, without fuss and, certainly, without pretension. The standard wheels, however, are a bit odd. They are Alex rims with Shimano XT hubs. And schrader valves! (what on earth?? – why?). One gets the impression that these wheels are a kind of dummy inclusion, like those demo plastic pedals some lower end bikes come with, designed to get you out of the shop but not much further. Basically, the standard Myroon wheels are a nasty bean counter’s tattoo on an otherwise remarkable bike. They are filling in the space where real wheels are designed to go. The next most interesting feature of this bike is that it comes standard with through axels front and back. It has a nice 15mm front and a 12mm rear. This is pretty much a requirement for the current state-of-the-art. Then there are the 180mm brake discs front and rear. Which is probably overkill but impressive nonetheless. More subtly, the next thing to note is that the Myroon frame sizing is aimed at the tightest rather than the most luxurious end of the dimension scale. The size L in this frame is the smallest L I have ever owned, which means that it is an utterly perfect fit. Though, mind you, you need to watch the seat post length which is less than generous for people with longer legs. My preferred setting has the post out to its maximum extension limit.
But most intriguingly of all, this bike was a demo bike. For the first time in my life, out of something like 20 bikes purchased thus far, I could try this one out before deciding to buy. Or, really, just to go for a ride! I reckon that KTM Australia’s choice to offer demo bikes to their dealer network is a glowing testimony to their confidence in this particular product. So, naturally, I shoved this bike in my car for a weekend of ‘testing’.
I didn’t need a weekend. Or even an hour. Even in its standard set up, this Myroon 29er is so very obviously unique and very, very special. I was sold 5km down the road.
What we have here is a purpose designed thoroughbred XC racing machine with the unique extra dimension of an amazingly compliant ride. This hard tail is more like a 1.5 suspended bike than a single suspended machine. It rides like a firm dual suspension machine but without the added weight penalties and all the benefits that the shorter hard tail wheel base can provide. But it is heavy. In standard dress, this KTM is 13kg, which is heavier than some higher-end dual suspension bikes (my Scott Spark 900 SL dual suspension bike is 9kg ready to race). But let’s be reasonable here: the Myroon has an asking price of $3000! What could you possibly expect?
But there is more to this picture than meets the eye. Much much more. You see, the KTM Myroon range extends from the entry level at $3000 to a top-end, Shimano XTR decked out spec level at around $7500. But, and let me emphasise this next point as emphatically as I possibly can: every model in the range has exactly the same frame. Every bike in the range has the top-end frame. I am not aware of any other bike maker who does this. Everyone else tends to offer frames that are lighter and more technically advanced as you ascend their range. Not this one. The implication is that this KTM Myroon is an upgrader’s dream. Buy this bike at its bargain basement opening price and up-spec as your finances allow. You can end up at precisely the same point as the top of the range as you play the up grade game. This bike comes with one of the best, most interesting carbon frames you can buy from the start. Who else puts their top-of-the-line frame into the bottom-of-the-line bike in the range?
I left my Myroon in standard spec for 6 months. Mainly because I enjoyed it so much as it came. Notwithstanding the heavy standard wheels, this thing is an endless joy to ride. It is fast wherever you go, compliant when things get rough, astoundingly precise when things get tight, brilliant if not spectacularly brilliant at climbing and comfortable wherever you go and for as long as you’d like any ride to last. This thing has put my Felt 29er (the estimiable, range-topping Carbon 9) hard tail back on the shelf. Despite being 2 kg lighter than the Myroon.
It could not, of course, last. The urge to upgrade is like gravity with a bike like this. But it was a good thing that I waited as long as I did. Because three months after purchasing my Myroon, SRAM introduced their XX1 drivetrain onto the Australian market. I can’t tell you how much I have wanted to throw out the front derailleurs on all my mountain bikes… I rode my KTM 280km from where I live to the coast back in April without needing to change out of the large chain ring, even once. That ride netted me around 7 Strava KOM’s up some amazing hills. However, whenever I look down at my front chain rings, I always imagine the little rings to be reminders of the decrepitudes of forthcoming old age. I don’t want reminders like that on my bikes, thanks all the same! Obviously, I don’t go places where little chain rings might be of some use. Like I said, I avoid the really rough stuff where smaller rings might help out. There is much much more to the XX1 11 speed system than just a single chain ring; it’s a hugely researched total drive chain solution that involves a uniquely huge rear cluster, dedicated hub bodies on your wheels and a dedicated bottom bracket (with ceramic bearings no less). Why hasn’t someone thought of a stock single chain ring solution before now?! XX1 is not the same thing as running a single chain ring on a dual ring spider as seen on cyclocross bikes. Or a single ring fixie solution. XX1 is a purpose-designed total system that works on the principle of simplicity and precision. With the 34 tooth chain ring installed (as opposed to the 32 tooth ring that is supplied standard by SRAM), this XX1 set up gives a gear range that is actually wider than the SLX 2×10 gear spread that comes with the bike. I knew what to expect from XX1 as that is the standard set up on my Scott Spark 900 SL (the best dual suspension bike I have ever ridden, and probably, the most exotic bike I own – a story for another post). I had been riding my Spark for a couple of months before making this Myroon upgrade.
So I had to have XX1 on my KTM Myroon 29er! And I had to reduce my bike’s overall weight closer to 9kg than it’s stock 13. So out went all the Ritchey aluminium bits (bars, stem, seat post). Out went those strange Alex wheels. My new spec is XX1, Mavic Cross Max SL wheels, Niner carbon bars, a Botrager XXX stem, SRAM XO brakes (not the trail version, which are heavier and unnecessary given the front and back 180mm disc size I decided to retain) and a Rock Shox RCT3 SID fork (over the standard Reba RL). But I did keep the original Prologo KTM customised seat. It is only 170gm and looks the part anyway. There was only one issue with this upgrade. The XX1 derailleur will not install on the standard Myroon derailleur hanger. The B screw will not reach and XX1 setup is very (very) dependent on precise B screw adjustment. The Australian KTM distributor just happened to have a replacement hanger in stock to make this all work. That hanger was from some other bike in the KTM range (not sure which). So finding the right hanger might, perhaps, be something of a chance (you’ll need to get the right guy on the ‘phone). KTM designs this bike exclusively for Shimano gears. That we found a hanger that works is good fortune, but I am pretty sure you can’t order an XX1 hanger off the shelf.
The result is more of everything that made this bike brilliant in its standard trim. Now it is faster when it was already fast enough! The suspension is harsher but way more precise and efficient. And those gears! XX1 is perfection on this bike. The Myroon is the fastest, sharpest handling, siffest, most comfortable hard tail I have ever ridden. Actually, it almost disappears when riding on rougher terrain. It feels far smaller than it is, and lighter than it’s now leaner 9.5kg might otherwise suggest. It is massive fun! I have never had a bike like this before. It is simply the best mountain bike I have ever owned. This is the bike to take when the urge to take a few Strava records takes hold. And when riding this bike, the urge to take Strava KOM’s is pretty much turned on all the time!
With all the new bits, my Myroon has cost me $7500, but I have lots of spare parts to build a second bike for the wife… That is still competitive for a top-end XC racing hard tail. Without testing every other hard tail on the market, I would simply suggest that it would be a tall order indeed for anything to outperform my Myroon 29er XX1.
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And the winner is…
After a year of research, dreaming and anticipation, and an entirely spurious attempt to apply the Scientific Method to my selection routine, I whittled a short list of five down to one. The backstory to this search is spread across the previous two Bicyclism Blog posts.
To recap. I created a probably once-in-a-lifetime budget for a no-compromise, largely open choice dream bike by way of legal wranglings and small victories over injustices rendered… to fund a bike that could be ranked as ‘The Best Bike I Have Ever Owned’ (or probably ever will own). I wanted a bike without compromises for my intended purpose of riding fast, long and, simply, to experience abject state-of-the-racing-bike-art. For this brief moment in time, I wanted to know how a perfect synthesis of design and performance might feel on the rides I love, in the places that are meaningful to me. I wanted to taste that top-of-the-line benchmark in the flesh.
Naturally, not everyone will agree with the choice I made, and, therefore, with the reasons for rejecting the other bikes on my short-list as my research progressed. As research is my professional thing (though, admittedly, not usually around the theme of bicycles), I am satisfied that my ultimate choice will not be subject to buyer’s regret over ‘what might have been’.
Especially after the real deal arrived on my dealer’s floor.
Let’s face it. A bike like this is as much art as science. But more. It’s the synthesis of both. And like all syntheses, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Razor sharp technology meets wicked good looks. But this art must also live in the real world. So it has to be good on our crap roads. And, as I ride for pleasure rather than for money (as if…) I want my pleasure rewards to endure, and endure, and endure some more. I want some permanent ecstasy to be going on here. Only a real road cycling nut will understand… I wanted a bike where I’d go out for two hours and come back after five… I want a bike that is totally, utterly and outrageously irresponsible!
I have been caught out before with bikes translating poorly from spec sheets onto the realities of the road. My first attempt at a criterium bike flexed so badly, I literally threw it away. My search for an ultra stiff bike once led me to consider walking instead (that bike lasted two days before I took it back to the store). Up till now, the best bike I have ever ridden on our real world rough as guts rural roads was a Pinarello Paris (I have the Prince too, but it is not as good as the Paris for what I do and where I choose to go). I’ve also spent a year riding a 2012 Giant TCR Advanced Rabobank: a pocket rocket where the magic of stiffness and compliance is artfully under control. The Giant is a great, stunning bike. Until it broke. Yes, all that stiffness ended up with a cracked seat stay. So now a 2013 TCR SL 0 Advanced warranty replacement in on the way. But I am nervous about how this latest generation of silly-light, stiff frames will hold up to keen amateur use. I don’t race these days. But I do ride a lot, seven days a week, 20,000km per year. But I’d happily ride twice that if my family would let me. Which they won’t.
So my short listing of The Perfect Bike needed to account for that magical mix of stiffness and compliance that my Giant, apparently, failed. I want feather light, UCI-illegal light weight, but not at the expense of a bike that breaks. But I also want a bike that I can ride for five hours without feeling all bashed up.
What first caught my eye about the Wilier Zero.7 is its unique use of a composite layered with some ‘secret material’ purpose designed to add compliance and resistance to damage (like cracking!). The reviews I read all indicated that this unique ultra tech composite was indeed equal to a seriously fast but seriously comfortable ride. So I rang the Australian importer and had a yarn. They (DeGrandi) also import Pinarello (the Dogma was also on my short list and I have a long standing Pinarello passion with three in my stable right now). I spoke to a guy who was at the world launch of the Wilier in Italy. His advice was that the Zero.7 would give me a ‘sweeter ride’ than the Dogma. It was genuinely compliant on the road. But also silly light and seriously stiff. A magic mix. The holy cycling grail (hail be to Merckx).
And yes, it really does. Look good. Like art. Nude carbon with flashes of red and strategic bits of white. The pictures looked astonishing. Especially with matching Fulcrum Red Wind XLR or Campagnolo Bora deep rim wheels.
So, I shelved my Dogma plans and cut my short list to four.
Which left me to contemplate the Colnago C59. Which, by pure chance, my local bike shop dealer (Mark of Bullen family track racing fame) just happened to get in for a bit of a look. And look and look I did. Despite being dressed, in this case, in blasphemous Dura Ace. (Italian = Campagnolo. End of). It’s a bit heavy. It’s an interesting mix of old tech pedigree (lugs!) but with a nod to the current state-of-the-art. Retro-current art. Lovely. But it does not punch me in the mouth like the Wilier does. It’s more of a nice warm bath than an electric Zero.7 shock shunted through wet electrodes into the pleasure dome of my mind.
I told you my selection process was rather less than a credible application of the Scientific Method…
Which leaves me with three. The Look 695, the BMC Teammachine SLR 01 and the Wilier.
The Look is great value. But kind of weird. But the deal killer for me is the Look crank. I hate non-groupo cranks. With a passion. Having lived with one on my Specialized S-Works Roubaix and my Pinarello Prince. These things never work as well as the official groupo crank. Plus, I am unsure about the Look stem. It might work OK but you are going to be locked in. It’s as ugly as the stem on my Giant TCR. And the ride reports are rather equivocal. As I said, I don’t race much any more and the Look is looking a bit too purposefully pointed at the racing pro. Plus, I have yet to see one in the flesh. Unlike all the others on my short list. Not that my local dealer can’t get me one if I insist. Nothing is too much trouble for the team in my favourite bike shop. They support me like I support them. It’s a synergy thing…
And so for the BMC. I like it a lot. But it’s not a dream bike. I might still get one. But not today. It’s more Giant TCR than super exotic dream machine. To me, the BMC is higher ranked than the Dogma. I love the way they do efficiency and purposeful at BMC. There’s no gimmicks on this stunning bike. It’s a statement of efficiency but I am worried about the ride. As I said, I have just had a bike crack it’s frame on our local roads. To me, the BMC is the most efficient, value winning bike on my list. It’s $5000 less than the Wilier and the Dogma (both at around $15,000). But just as good and an icon of Swiss purposeful design. This is the bike my economist’s mind would recommend. But my university professorial days are gone three years now (after some managerialist dead beat shut my research centre down). I make less rationalist choices these days.
The Wilier is it for me
After drooling over photos of the Wilier Zero.7 for months on end, I wasn’t prepared for the looks of this machine in the flesh. It’s a bit like seeing the Grand Canyon for the first time. Great in the pics but a smash in the face for real. How could it possibly look even better in the flesh than it does on paper? But it does. And then some. And some for more. I’ll try to put it this way. The sensation of seeing my new bike for the first time was just like the feeling I got when I personally met my favourite painting (Hieronymus Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights in the Prado Museum in Madrid) for the very first time. And what an analogy through which to describe this bike! Garden of Earthly Delights for sure. If you are a cycling nutter like me. Paradise…in the flesh.
One part of my selection routine is for a distributor that’s responsive to customer needs. DeGrandi is great. I have dealt with them lots of times before (through Mark Bullen at the Armidale Bicycle Centre – that’s them pre-delivering my bike in the photo to the right). No amount of mix and matching is too much of a chore in the Bullen store! So, out went the stock FSA/Wilier branded crank and in with the Campagnolo Super Record real deal instead. Out with the Fulcrum Racing 1′s and in with the Red Wind XLR’s. I want a bike without the need for a future upgrade path. I want everything to be perfect right at the start.
The spec list on this bike is a list of the best bits money can buy. Everything is top of the line. From the seat (Selle Italia’s carbon railed SLR, through to the post and stem (both custom projects by FSA) to Campagnolo’s unimaginably gorgeous Super Record EPS (yes… I did opt for electronic gears). Nothing, but nothing, on this bike is anything but top end. Mt Everest pointy top end. Anything above what’s on this bike has yet to be invented. Or is so impractical to be of suspect use. Which means that yes, it is possible to customise with even lighter parts (freaky light but fragile seat post and seats, skeleton brakes, et al.). But realise this. This bike is already as light as anything available right now. The frame weights 697grams certified by Wilier. The whole bike draped in Campagnolo Super Record EPS and deep rim wheels is still a UCI illegal 6.6kg! So why bother with even more ultra light parts and compromise the strength integrity I can get with stock Super Record? I am not a weight weenie. Did I mention that I have a bike with a frame that has just cracked through use on our local roads??
Before I take you out for a test ride on this thing, I need to explain my choice of wheels. Campagnolo Bora’s are the maker’s intended wheels of choice. Bora’s are wheels for tubular tyres. I had tubulars for years. I am done with glue and my tubular sewing kit. I know they ride like flying in the air. But not for around here… Just to get to my house I have to negotiate 200 metres of anti-socially disposed gutted dirt ruts. And ever since our local ‘Council’ decided to opt for the obscenity of automated pot hole patching cyclist-hate machines, nothing less than a mountain bike is really sustainable on the roads I am fated to ride if my desire is to ever leave my house… No, clinchers or tubeless are the only real options so Bora’s are off the menu list unless I relocate to Sydney’s stunningly beautifully West Head road (which, perversely, is where I went to try out my new Wilier for a week of riding the roads where I cut my racing teeth). Hence my choice of Fulcrum Red Wind XLR’s. Which is the Fulcrum version of Campagnolo’s Bullet wheels (same factory, different graphics and spokes). Which, in turn, are Campagnolo’s clincher version of the Bora’s.
Wheels matter. And the XLR’s are great.
Let me get this Campagnolo lust thing out of the way. I have Campagnolo Record on both my Pinarello Price and my Pinarello Paris. There was no Super Record on offer then. I have bikes with Dura Ace and with SRAM Red. I have a bike with Ultegra too. I use them all. I am, apparently, obsessive compulsive about things needing to click with a serious clunk before I can be satisfied I have affected something to be shut. Campagnolo does the trick. Like a bolt into a death row cell door. You know you have changed gear. You know you are in gear. You know you will stay in gear. Dura Ace is a fop by way of comparison. You change gears with an effeminate quasi, mousy, weakling wimpy click. An apologetic click at that. A click that apologises for the apology of a click it represents. A click that has lost its clicker. And it does not stay clicked for long. Dura Ace always starts to grind away in the indecision of its effeminate location on cogs it seems to despise. I hate the stuff. Passionately! Campagnolo for me. End of. But the new Super Record EPS?? I love it for its outrageous contempt to be a contender on the value scale… I LOVE the way Campagnolo built this stuff first and then contemplated the price. Just like engineers rather than accountants always do. Super Record EPS is the group engineers rather than accountants would choose. It is stupid expensive. More than the price of most people’s cars.
Aesthetics and deep clicking aside, this new EPS Super Record is a revelation for me. I had no idea that changing gears could be like this. Hell, I go for rides just to change gears these days. There’s deep love to be had from this EPS. Unutterable perfection. This stuff is like putting a step ladder on the top of Mount Everest to keep all other contenders at bay. Nothing is as good as Super Record EPS except, perhaps, mechanical Super Record after a two month electricity outage (which is when you need to recharge the EPS battery).
And so to the bike itself. How does it ride? I have a few benchmarks to compare. Is it as good as the Pinarello Paris? In other words, how is the Wilier’s balancing act of stiffness and compliance in comparison with my treasured Paris? Better. More of both. Twice.
How about against the Giant TCR Advanced Rabobank (recently deceased)? Less harsh but just as stiff. So better again. Against my Pinarello Prince? Less harsh again. and twice as stiff. And here is a ring-in through which to seal the deal. I have just grabbed the 2013 Merida Scultura Team SL (as issued to Team Lampre Merida in the Pro Tour for this year). The Merida is THE statement for stiffness and compliance in magical harmony. It’s 1/3 the price of the Wilier. It’s a magical bike. I will be reviewing it next. But the Wilier is one step above, again. I had no idea that it was possible to find a bike with such an astoundingly comfortable ride while being so amazingly stiff as the Wilier Zero.7. This is supernatural stuff. After all, the norm is that you can have one or the other, but not both. The Merida pulls it off. But the Wilier turns this magical mix into a technical tour de force. Nothing that I have ever ridden rides like the Wilier Zero.7
It’s not a radical compact frame but it’s also not Colnago conventional diamond either. The WIlier’s top tube gracefully curves like a lazy Italian lunch into a set of Italian super model seat stay legs. The effect is a statement of compliance art. Big muscular (but not fat) chain stays are of the trendy asymmetrical kind. But without smash-you-in-the-mouth curvy Pinarello Dogma over baked marketing machine overstatement. The big frame architecture feature (aside from the secret but ever so brilliant composite mix) is the humungous BB 386 bottom end. When this bike came out only Wilier and BH were using this new bottom bracket (an 86mm extended version of the already large BB30 as seen on so many new bikes these days). This bottom bracket is HUGE. This is where much of the frame stiffness resides. My Merida also has this 386 BB.
Because the head tube is less bottom heavy than many of the Wilier’s competitors (being of a lesser width than, say, the new Giant TCR Advanced SL 0 I am about to receive by way of warranty replacement for my broken TCR). This gives the Wilier a rather engaging steering dynamic. Some might classify the Zero.7′s steering as being too ‘loose’, or of being ‘nervous’. But it is intentionally ‘light’ in this regard to facilitate steering that is quick in a tight corner; perfect for criteriums and for avoiding blue rinse biddies in their motorised shopping cars (or P Plate bimbos attending to their texting rather than to the realities of the road). The steering is very ‘obvious’ when you take your first ride. I wouldn’t be giving this bike to a first time rider or a mountain biker seeking a conversion to the world of tar. But I am not implying any kind of lack of precision here. The steering this bike has is something to be desired, once you have some racing miles in your legs and head. I can’t imagine a better dynamic through which to keep pace in a fast moving peloton. But it is not like riding on rails for those who might prefer to autopilot down steep hills. You need to stay alert and in control and this steering is the tool through which to keep your descents in tune with the vagaries of any road.
I have invested about 4,000km in this machine so far. I have taken it everywhere and then some. So inspired by this bike, I loaded it into my car for a 1,000 km round trip to my old racing roads of Sydney’s Akuna Bay, West Head, just to see how it might ride on perfect hot melt, rather than our local strips of bankrupted Council Contempt. After 25 years away, I was born again! I am the sort who has 30 plus years of cycling log book data to recall. I have all the hills archived and my speeds were all up on those I was getting when I raced A Grade one quarter of a century before. I am wondering how Eddy Merckx or my hero Laurent Fignon (my racing buddies called me Laurent by way of nick name ’cause I looked like him at the time) might have gone on this Wilier Zero.7 back in their day. Perhaps if they had a bike like this no one would have thought of experimenting with EPO…
And so, I will conclude, my mission was more than accomplished. I wanted the bike of my dreams and got something even better after a year of search through research. Perhaps there are bikes just as good, and there will certainly be bikes just as good in the future, if not better still, but for now, right here in the first bits of 2013, the Wilier Zero.7 is at the top of the tree. This one ticks boxes I didn’t know I had. This is, truly, the bike of at least my dreams.
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A quick question: what’s the best road bike in the world?
Surely this is the ultimate question in the road cycling geek’s big list of things to argue over. There are probably 42 answers… All contestable and subject to revision daily, as more and more bikes are unleashed for our endless temptation.
As with all unanswerable questions (e.g.. is there a God, which is the best State to live in, what’s the best country in the world, who is the world’s greatest author and what’s the best music band in the world?), everyone has at least an opinion. Society is shaped by the way people answer questions such as these. Remember the Spanish Inquisition? That’s one way to answer questions pertaining to God. Or driving a few planes into the World Trade Centre. Or the Second World War, the First World War and even the Peloponnesian Wars. Clubs, tribes and friend circles are defined by localised consensus on how we might answer any of the great unanswerable questions. Football clubs anyone?
Our consideration of the ‘best (road) bike in the world’ is one of these biggies. Not something to go to war over. But a Big One nonetheless. And, as a Big One, there is no universally agreeable answer.
But there are ways of dealing with the utter unresolvability of this question. First, we might, and many do, simply partition their personal answer to country of origin. Eg. the best bike in the world MUST be Italian. Or French. Or from the USA. That’s one approach.
Some might just go by price. What’s the most expensive? Some might go by weight. What’s the lightest road bike in the world? Or exclusivity.
And there are always those extraordinarily tiresome types who use the annoyingly simple metric of simply declaring that whatever bike they might have is, by virtue of their astounding good taste, THE best bike in the world. That’s pretty much the metric many people I know use for answering questions about religion, choice of motor car, musical taste, or the best place to live. Most of us have some biases of this kind that colour, or at least taint our thinking on questions such as these.
And then there are the scientistic types. These are the lab coat set who propose to address THE big questions through the purity of science; measurements, quantification: proof! You’d be stunned to know how many seemingly intelligent people go for this line; that the bogus measurement routine is a valid response to dealing with tricky questions. Academics often suffer this appalling quantitative disease. Why a disease? Because not all the dimensions of any unanswerable question are amenable to measurement.; so insistence on quantification disfigures the rich field of choices that the more subjective realm can inform. And, really, it’s often he case that the best things about the things we are wanting to rank and rate are completely incompatible with measurement. Like the aesthetic dimension. Like all the ‘feel good’ bits that drive our choices.
Besides, who would want a bicycle that an accountant might assess to be the best? Or who would want a bike that a Human Resources bot might determine to be the most Politically Correct?
So… knowing that this is an unanswerable question, and that anything that I might suggest by way of an answer is a single sand grain in an entire beach of prospective, legitimate answers, I feel compelled to have a go because I am on the hunt for a new bike and the bike I want is one without the usual constraints that shape my choices. This is my once in a lifetime crusade to pick the Best bike I can find. Or more precisely, I want a bike chosen without all the usual constraints of money, lack of information, of what’s in stock and what’s not. I want to wallow in my own prejudices, biases and sense of the aesthetic. I am not buying this bike for anyone else! And I am NOT recommending my particular choice to anyone else. This is an entirely personal crusade. The most self indulgent thing I have ever done! (It’s a good thing I hate cars… buying the ultimate bicycle is at best 5% of the cost of searching for the ‘ultimate’ car. Besides, to my mind, the ultimate car is always parked permanently in a wrecking yard…)
I gave myself a year for this search. Research is what I do. So researching this particular question was going to be a pleasurable journey. Knowing that, at the end, there will be NO perfect choice, and that, perhaps, the final choice might actually prove to be unavailable or unaffordable, I wanted at least my search to be uncompromised. It costs no more to search without constraints than it would to search with all those usual qualifiers of economics and the practicalities of the market place to constrain my choices.
My aim was for a short list of Five. To narrow the field, I subscribed to 10 cycling journals and numerous web forums. I tracked bicycle industry news like a zealot. I harassed and harangued every person who’s opinion I imagined was worth a listen (and often some who’s opinion was not). I collected test reports with the dedication of a hypochrondriac searching the web for an imagined disease. I looked, I listened, I visited bicycle shops. Everywhere I went.
I decided from the start to avoid the custom route. I know some would say that having a bike custom made is the ultimate path. But I am not that patient and I want a bike that others might also have. I need the reinforcements of reviews along with the validation that those reviews might provide. Custom bikes are a once off and almost never reviewed by the cycling press. Custom bikes are too exclusive for someone in permanent search of others who might have made the same choice as me… It’s a tribal thing.
To reach my short list of five, I would allow only one simple rule: no bike on my list could be second to any other; just different. It should not be possible to find a better bike than one on my list; just a bike that’s different. Of course, I am not actually defining criteria like ‘best’ or ‘better’ in any measurable way, because at this level, choices are beyond the resolution of quantifiable measurement. This short list of five will be sitting above the altitude of objective measurement. At this level, we are in the realm of the spectacularly, wonderfully, embracingly subjective. I am not buying an office stapler here. I am buying a work of art. A pice of history. A statement. So, I can embrace rather than pretend to avoid my cycling biases. The search is tough. If I were to find any test report that justifiably faulted any aspect of any bike, that bike would not be on the list. But context matters. Criticisms need to make sense and they need to matter. If a bike has a design fault that is repeatable and serious, it’s off the list. If a criticism is about aesthetics, I will be my own judge.
Without even the delusions of pseudo scientific method in place, I had fun massaging my list down to five. Five universally lauded bikes. Five bikes that have never attracted any kind of serious negative comment. Five winners.
Here’s my list:
Pinarello Dogma II
BMC Teammachine SLR 01
Already, you are questioning and arguing my choice! I can hear you from here… Where is the Giant TCR Advanced Rabobank? Where are the top end offerings from Ridley, Parlee, Trek, Cervelo, Specialized, Fuji, Canyon, de Rosa, Bianchi, BH, Orbea, Time, Merida or Merckx? And did you notice my Italian bias? As I said, this is my choice and me wallowing in my own context of aesthetics and mechanical art.
And yes, A bike is a frame plus a set of parts. I can’t avoid the latter. I have to choose there too. I have to wade into the perpetual fires of equipment choice: Campagnolo, Shimano or SRAM. I already have bikes with Super Record, Record, Dura Ace, Ultegra and SRAM Red. I detest Dura Ace with a passion (shifting like a broken spoon flapping in a bowl of porridge). I kind of like Red (a proper click) and I am passionate about Super Record (20,000km without adjustment, even once. A serious. Proper. Click). And on top of that. Electronic or mechanical? Another subjective nest of snakes. With that admission, my audience here has splintered into three abuse hurling shouting camps. Such is mountain climbing into the stratosphere of the ultimate bike… I made it simple. Campagnolo Super Record. EPS (electronic), or mechanical I’ll decide in due course.
And then there’s the wheels. I want 50mm deep carbon clinchers. I don’t care for tubulars these days. I’m not going to argue with myself over that any more. I had tubulars for 10 years. I want my rims with an aluminium braking ring. I have a set of Fulcrum all carbon clinchers: never again. Sometimes, it’s nice to stop…
Here are highlights from my review notes:
Pinarello Dogma II. Innovative frame geometry, superbly stiff, but compliant. Fast, but OK for all day rides. I love curves! I love Pinarellos (I have three already). History. Aesthetics. Pedigree! Italian, yes, but Taiwanese cleverness with monocoque. Overpriced. Paying for the brand. A bike dentists tend to buy. I am not a dentist… $16,000 on the road with Super Record EPS. The obvious choice. Too obvious? Tour de France winner but under the wrong rider… Who could forgive Sky colour scheme! Have they no shame? Do I really want 4 Pinarellos?
Look 695. Iceberg clean looks! Zen. Efficient. Brilliant. Stiff (super). Purebred to race. Fast. Too associated with Shimano. Eccentric. Understatement. French! Unmistakingly French! Lack of bling equates to more bling than bling. $11,000 on the road. Hard to convince the distributor not to taint with Shimano Dura Ace.
BMC Teammachine SLR 01. Ruthlessly efficient. Innovative rear end. Home spun carbon! Light! Stiff. Won the Tour de France. Underdog. Clean zen like aesthetics. Good climber. Good in a sprint. But climbing is great. I am a climber. I love hills. Yes. Great price too. Save $6k on a Dogma. $10,000 on the road. With SRAM Red. A Swiss made analogue of the Giant TCR Advanced Rabobank Team Issue bike with which I have been totally, and utterly enthralled for the past year.
Wilier Zero.7 Where did this one come from! I always liked the Cento 1. But this is a breathtaking statement that must have embarrassed Pinarello big time. Ultra light weight, ultra stiff, but ultra comfortable. A reconciliation of opposites! A pure, unmitigated, unapologetic statement of Italian art. Hair standing on back of neck looks. Expensive… Innovative new carbon technology you’d have expected from Pinarello – or Giant – first. One of the oldest bike makers on the planet. Hardly zen-like looks! Bling on bling. Only from Italy. Put Shimano on this and die. $15,000 before the pedals but with Super Record EPS and Fulcrum Red Wind XLR/Campagnolo Bullet wheels. Rationality takes a hike. I am in love.
Colnago C59 Especially with disc brakes! Understated, overstated, all at the same time. Lightish, but not light. Stiff, but not too much. Lugs! Made in Italy. Customisation possibilities are endless. This one is not from a distributor of boxes. Passion on wheels. I can’t find a single colour scheme I actually like… Old school. Last of its kind. A lifetime keeper. Colnago too often goes over to the dark side of Shimano. Shame! Colnago and Pinarello should shop locally when it comes to component choices. Take a look at Wilier… $12,000 if I go for mechanical Super Record. The bike to aspire to after a lifetime of bike love. Pure bicyclism!
And…the Giant TCR Advanced Team Issue Rabobank is not on my list because I already have one… As good as a Dogma at 1/3 the cost! Flawless. Magnificent. Logical.
And the winner? Or, perhaps more appropriately put, which one did I choose? Isn’t it obvious? Stay tuned for the next instalment.
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People who know me and know of the issues my family have been dealing with over the past few years keep telling me the same thing: all families have their problems. Weasel words. Platitudes. No one, I would contend, could possibly have connections to as psychotic a bunch of sociopaths as my wife’s abysmal family. All that is needed to expose their character is the catalyst of money. And money is something they always like to have around.
I have always reckoned that a family that can reconcile the invariably asymmetrical viewpoints on the distribution of ‘family wealth’ is one that is both rare and worthwhile. My own family is like that; we have a history of simply letting stuff disappear into the hands of the ruthless and greedy, rather than pursue our rights to the death. Not good for the bottom line but we are a long lived family with few scars. But my wife’s family is different (with the exception of my wife, who is as opposite from them as it could ever be possible to stretch genetic attachments without appearing to be adopted). Money is their religion, their reason for existence, their goal, their passion, and their misery. Measured by the cent. One cent at a time. Odious, obnoxious trolls. I am not being subtle here, am I…
I mean, how would you react to advice from the forthcoming brother-in-law just after the announcement of intended nuptials: ˆyou know you shouldn’t be marrying her for her money, don’t you! Because you won’t be getting any. Our business is none of yours’. Which is pretty hard to swallow when being part of their farming business is quite possibly the last thing I could ever possibly want. Having invested ten years into the getting of qualifications and experience towards an academic career, why would I want to take up farming instead?! But being a family farm their business would be a business from which it would be pretty hard to stay totally removed, especially when it is the location of our home and the focus of my wife’s life passion (a passion that makes mine for cycling seem like a momentary fad). Theirs is a farm that has always depended entirely on her intelligence and, frankly, brilliance as a manager of animals and on her extraordinary intuition in relation to the challenges of the rural market place. My intuitions are more academic, having been, for 26 years, a lecturer in farm business management (and later on more diverse, ecological-economic themes) at the local university, and thus shielded from the inner workings of The Family Business. I’ve been viewed as an exotic threat since the day we got married. Watched, feared, reviled. It has been fun…
All farming businesses pass on; but some pass with more grace than others. Some pass via an agreed plan. Some pass via the attrition of a war. Ours was more the latter than the former, given that the rules of engagement and most of the ensuing plan were dictated by The Eldest Brother upon the context entirely of what was best, exclusively, for him. The Eldest Brother had ruled the roost for over 30 years. He ran the books. He decided what could be spent and what could not. Which always pretty well meant that anything that was to his advantage was approved and anything else was beyond financial reach. But my wife ploughed on, doing her thing. Producing wool of world class renown. The only one of the three siblings with a genuine love for the place.
So we ended up at the intersection in the road; the old guy, the head of the clan, decided to give in and split the place across his offspring. The Eldest Brother was born for this day. Like a coil hard-sprung for years, he launched his greased plan. First up, he took away our house. Gifted to us via promise by my wife’s parents, we now were forced to buy it back. Full market price. The Eldest Brother managed to value our house at 10 times the price as that of his own. But then the real nightmare began: unravelling the family books. Kept like a sacred scripture by the Eldest Brother for years, no one had ever managed to see within and no one was ever going to short of a SAS-like covert audit.
So we paid our millions for our share and still The Brothers managed to keep a hold over us through refusing to let us buy our share of the livestock and plant. We had to lease our stock and pay above market rates by way of interest, for years to come. How would anyone run a livestock business when denied ownership of the animals involved? My first step was to enlist a legal-accounting team to find us an escape. It took two years! Mainly because the Eldest Brother refused to let even our accountant see the books to work out a payout price. But it got even worse. My wife’s father had extended an interest free loan to her by way of mitigation of damage caused by reneging on the handover of our house. For two years, we had taken him at his word. Until one day, hiding on his kitchen table, we found The Invoice. The Eldest Brother had, apparently, taken exception to this ‘interest free loan’ and had decided, without telling us, to charge us interest from day one. And, because we never knew, he’d been compounding those interest charges into the principal stacking up a healthy potential income stream. He’d written this loan contract with his wife on the day we all split the place. The solicitor involved had told us there was no problem, interest was optional. But not to the Eldest Brother to whom interest is the sacred sacrament of his perverted sense of self worth.
I unleashed my legal team. We shut the racket down. We escaped. We are now free. Funded entirely from my personal life savings. And we had two victories along the way. First, we won on the question of interest for my wife’s father’s loan. $9,000 saved. The second victory was to secure interest relief over the past 6 months of haggling over our non-access to the books. Access is a legal right, not a benefit to be bestowed. $6,000 saved. $9,000 plus $6,000 = $15,000. The exact price of my new bike. My new bike is a statement of rights restored. The only victory I have ever scored against the tyranny of my wife’s greed bloated family. My new bike is a symbol of our freedom, funded by the curtailment of The Brothers’ relentless greed. I love this bike for what it is and for how it came to be mine. What better statement could I ever have to mark the occasion of the dawn of a new life for my family and what will probably be the last great fling of my cycling career. This bike is a sweet reward. It almost doesn’t matter what it is but it is something extraordinary nonetheless. To celebrate our freedom, I devised a simple plan: I simply want the best bike money can buy. Period. No compromises. The best there is. Funded through righteous relief from the tyranny of greed. So what did I get? Stay tuned.
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I wasn’t there when they first invented the TV. But I do recall once watching an early era black and white set before colour broadcasting began. I remember the wooden box-like set. I remember the small glass screen. I remember the single mono speaker and the big fuel tank filler cap-like channel switcher. I remember the turned cylinder legs and the flower pot permanently planted on the top. I do definitely remember that all this felt so amazingly modern. And I do not ever recall thinking that all this technology would be in for much in the way of change. Colour was not something that ever occurred to me. Yes, that little Pye set was bigger and better in every way than its predecessors that more resembled a gramophone set with a window than a Jurassic Home Theatre array. But progress felt… gradual. Not frantic. We didn’t purchase on the knife edge of fast paced imminent redundancy. We didn’t worry that what we might purchase today would become an antique the very next day.
Which is how I feel when I buy a TV these days. Which is exactly how I feel two days after installing the one I have just bought. Two days after purchase, that model has been deleted. But it was current two days before. So now, apparently, I have an antique…
But it’s not just TV’s that give me this riding-a-technology whirlwind feeling these days, And that’s not because I am some kind of grumpy technologically outpaced old man either, I might add…
This latest model Macbook Air I am using here was fresh for five days. Then Apple added USB 3. So now I am a legacy user disconnected from the world of high speed devices to which, it seems, every other Mac user now has access, except me. Now I’m stuck with USB 2.0. One day I was on the cutting edge. Now I am in the dust. Feeling like the victim of technological assault. Inadequate. Left behind. Old. Which is all very odd because before the latest Macbook update, USB 2.0 was just fine. I was happy using the equivalent of black and white TV serial bus technology. USB 3.0 was for PC users and I wasn’t one of them. And that was just fine.
Which is why, and I am sure I am not alone, so many folk are having such fun with LP records once again. Vinyl has become a concrete barricade of protection from the howling gale of technological change. We can tinker and enjoy without any fear of becoming out-of-date. Indeed, in those Jurassic vinyl grooves is a sound that even the highest end computer audio would find it hard to match. But I digress.
If you are a person subject to techno-adadequacies or insecurities of this kind, the whole world becomes a little unsettling. We seem to be tuned to the pace of being left technologically behind. Most of us know that what we have today is not going to cut it by some time mid next week. Some of us don’t care at all (to a degree that improves the closer we get to the nursing home), some are mildly unnerved. And some are in a perpetual state of panic (like those who choose to queue every time Apple releases a new iPhone).
My bandwidth of concern is pretty wide. Relishing, as I do, the technological resilience of bicycles and vinyl LP’s, I can drift off to an island of unconcern. But when it comes to computer IT, I dread every upgrade. I am, after all, that guy who bought into DCC and MD (remember those?) only to watch both music formats completely disappear within a space of two years, along with the media needed to keep that equipment in use. Go on, try to buy a Digital Compact Cassette these days. Go on. Try. I feel like I have been robbed. Dropped. Ditched. Redundant without redundancy pay. And no one cares…
All of which explains why I seem to be permanently carrying a back pack of worry around whenever I enter some kind of electronics store, or search for a new car, or search for a new ebook to download. Will I be left with unusable stuff all over again? It’s like carrying a permanent virus, or having to live with a permanent limp. All the while knowing that, really, it’s all self-inflicted and induced by the evils of modern marketing and a raging culture of consumerism. Which is why it’s so great to know that I can aways drift off to that moated barricade of bicycles and vinyl LP’s when ever I like. In that place, I can overtake anyone’s million dollar cutting-edge super car when all that oil-fuming technology trickles down to a sludge in congested city streets; and from where I can nuance away all I like to the nth degree of fidelity on my LP’s while the techno buffs are all reinventing bit rates and DAC codecs in a battlefield mess of unsettling audio attrition.
But all this presents a context through which to frame every visit I choose to make to my local bookstore, my local record shop, or even to my local newsagent. I pick up a book and find myself Amazoning the price of its ebook counterpoint for my iPad. I pick up a magazine and check out the price of subscriptions on Zinio. The latest issue of Peloton magazine is $15.99. An annual sub for my iPad is $12. Knowing these choices makes it so hard to commit. Which translates into a non- commitment to the continued existence of these stores dancing their death throes on the tipping point of relentless change. Every time I buy an ebook, my local book store is one page closer to that final closing down sale. I can’t enjoy buying the latest cycling ezine without reflecting on the abject economic disaster about to dump on my friendly local newsagent. What’s life going to be like without those local stores? Is our community to become an array of disconnected social recluses all hardwired to the internet while the village green transcends to jungle and unemployment reaches 100 per cent?
Stop the bus. It’s time to get off.
I’m done with all those awkward silences of unsaid condolence I feel whenever I visit my newsagent, bookshop or that last, assaulted record store. Is it time to become a technological recluse?
It’s hard to listen to music on my bike with a LP turntable strapped to my handlebars. I want the latest toys but want the social infrastructure of community commerce as well.
It’s hard to put my head in the sand. But I don’t want to put a knife into those gentle decent folk who run their Last Stand book/record/newsagency stores, waiting for the vultures to finally swarm the poverty of their final days.
Where do they all go in these days of 10 per cent plus unemployment and global recession? Too young to retire, too old to begin again. Do they all just go off and die? Do they all just go off to live under a bridge? What happens to the human-centred purveyors of technologies-left-behind. Who’s going to provide the spare parts for TV sets rendered obsolete when the product cycles cycle around to less than a week? Who’s going to service anything when all commerce is transacted by faceless drones in cyber space. What happens when the economic efficiency of technological improvement leaves us all unemployed? Do we only ever reflect on such things when the impacts hit us hard in the face?
Of course, the world these days is not just transmitted in black and white. Fortunately there are lots of shades of grey in between. But I do fear that it’s that grey scale that’s the real issue under assault. Are those shades reducing to a five tone scale? At one end, we have the Made-in-China globalised cess pit of the economic rationalist’s sado-massochistic perverted world view. On the other end we have us cyclists and LP lovers ignoring the assault. But in the middle are all the struggling record stores, magazine sellers and book store purveyors bleeding tears as they reconcile their tills at closing time. I can see a time when the technologies of the recent past reduce to be serviced by niche markets of residual cranks and luddites perverse in their pleasures from stuff from the past. Like readers of paper books and magazines. And cyclists eschewing the bestialities of e-motors and even stupider electronic gears. What’s the ideal market size for a niche of paper books and plastic compact discs? One store per town or one store per million of population? Who’s going to catch a plane flight to visit the nearest record store? What’s the business plan for my local newsagent these days? Or worse, for that local record store? We know that technologies get left behind (remember the Digital Compact Cassette and Mini Disc?). So stuff will fail and markets will crash. They can’t all be sustained by niche markets for the hardcore. The grey scale between no market and the global market place is going to get really thin. And we all need to consider this final point. How many local jobs will there be when the global market place has entirely diverted to an exclusive serenade between the Chinese shop floor and their faceless, country-less global corporate sponsors?
Which is why, maybe, this current post- Global Financial Crisis Crisis is a good thing after all. When the world economy slows to a crawl, the wheels of commerce slow and we get time to work out a better plan. There are some economists who have given this process a name: Creative Destruction.
Which is why, in turn, I have that unsettled feeling of impermanence and insecurity when it comes to making technology choices these days. We are in a world just like we were when black and white TV became mature. We are sitting on the edge of a great tipping point. The grey scale is about to turn into colour. Hopefully the next spectrum of our economy will be displayed in something better than VGA. Hopefully, the middle will fill out and niche markets will return to a broader base; just like the LP industry these days where more and more and ever more people are re-introducing themselves to the latest technical iterations of the good-old turntable and the latest grades of heavy weight vinyl. And, yes, as more and more people discover the whole-of-life enhancement of cycling as a wondrously steam punk synthesis of the old and the new, cycling and re-cycling all over and over again.
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Golf. Noun: a game played on a large open-air course, in which a small hard ball is struck with a club into a series of small holes in the ground…
Cycling. Noun: the sport or activity of riding a bicycle…
…A wave of enthusiasm for cycling is sweeping through London’s financial district as people swap Porsches for Pinarellos, the Financial Times reported…
So how, exactly, is cycling supposed to be the ‘new golf‘?
And why do people keep on making this seemingly absurd claim?
Are we to believe that golfers are downing their clubs and taking to riding bicycles instead?
Or is it, possibly, because those corporate knights who once, in theory, conducted their strategic interactions on the golf course are now busy plotting takeovers and tax avoidance stratagems on bicycles instead?
Have you actually witnessed power meetings in the peloton as opposed to the more usual Board Room or Michelin-starred restaurant?
Have you actually witnessed creative corporate strategising as the echelon rotates to the cadence of monetary greed, world domination and the head wind of the market place?
Or is it that cycling is now the way to get to know a new client or the character of your employees? If so, what’s to be gained if the client can’t keep up or escapes into a breakaway? How does an executive impress if his underling drops his boss on the very first hill. What kind of management pecking order can be established on a ride rather than via the machinations of bureaucratic policy? Imagine if one’s position in the office hierarchy were to be determined through a 300m sprint? Or by arrival order over the Stelvio Pass?
But golf is not just about open-aired corporate interaction. Some people play golf because they enjoy hitting a ball with a stick. How, exactly, is cycling supposed to superscede the supposed thrills of hitting a ball with an over-priced stick? I’m struggling to find some kind of pathway here. You’d be as likely to convince a pro-footballer to shift into pro-chess as a career upgrade path. What’s the natural transition for those who would wear golfing jumpers while driving a golfing cart to take to lycra and pedals instead? Maybe the affinity is that we both wear strange shoes…
Will the St Andrews clique be transforming themselves into some kind of exclusive membership cycling club instead? What will become of their tweed suits and caddy slaves? Maybe they’ll dress in Rapha cycling tweed and re-enlist their caddies as domestiques.
Or are we talking about the transformation of pro-golf into pro-cycling? Are we to see all those pot-bellied cycling pros taking to the peloton instead? Is Tiger Woods about to challenge Andy Schleck on the Col du Galibier?
Or is it that the golf buggy is a natural progenitor to the post-bank crash era e-bicycle? Now that I could believe. If so, are we now supposed to run e-bike criteriums around the golfing greens? Or are we supposed to play e-bike polo into those now re-purposed 18 holes?
I suspect that what’s actually implied by this supposed transformation of golf into cycling is, rather, more to do with a cultural shift than with the shifting of gears. And that shift is nasty.
Let’s try a word association game. When I think of golf, here’s a few instant word associations:
- conspicuous consumption
- delusions of exercise
- green cancer
- golf carts for people incapable of walking more than 10 metres
- exclusive clubs
- servants carting clubs for big bwanas
- the world’s only obese professional sporting heroes
- an ultra expensive way to play marbles
So, when they say cycling is the new golf, do they mean that our sporting passion of hard-won physical prowess-driven achievement is to be replaced by a consumerist culture of pretentious posing and faux-everything? Is the humble post-ride latte tradition to be replaced with vintage wine sipping at some stately exclusive membership arpres cycling clubhouse? Are we now supposed to start paying membership fees to ride with a group? Will our various cycling clubs now be sorted via some kind of psychopathically imagined scale of social/material exclusivity?
Or are we talking about the transcendence of one of the world’s most pretentious twattages of a faux-sport into an activity that actually involves the application of genuine exercise and classless interaction? In other words, is the evolution under question one where the values of cycling somehow rewrite the code of the culture of golf? I suspect that that’s not what’s being implied.
There’s evidence of a hostile cultural takeover happening to our beautiful two wheel passion. The golfing hoards are indeed spewing their values into a place where these things should not fit.
I remember a time where spending up big on a bike was an expression of one’s dedication to winning more races and riding ever harder. A top end bike usually meant going without ever more by way of other stuff. Like food. Or a car. I remember when buying a bike like a top end Colnago, Vitus, Look, or some custom crafted job was a commitment to the sport rather than to some kind of image to be conveyed. Spending big meant more hurt. More pain. More sweat than ever before. And to winning races, or at least losing less.
But if we are to extrapolate the ‘golfing culture’ to such a game, spending up big is what you do when you want to consume the image of decreased age or your preferred position on the emperor-has-no-clothes sporting hero scale. Money is a tool through which to aspire to an intended image. Even if that image is an image exclusive to your own mind. To a golfer’s mind, perhaps, cycling has the appearance of a proper post-global warming warmed, post-banker-wanker image. And to a golfer, perhaps, image is something to be consumed rather than earned. And which pro-level bike maker is going to deny such people an exclusive cycling-poseur pricing scale? Is it a total coincidence that those shops that specialise in top end bicycles are almost always located in urban baby-boomer-dentist-neo-golfer locales where real estate prices barely match the pretensions of their self-image obsessed residents? Swimming pools, Ferrari’s, exclusive gym membership, golfing … PInarello Dogma owners…
I definitely do not deny that there are many golfers who simply play golf because they love that game. To these happy humble types, the Pinarello Dogma golfers are as much an affront as they are to us.
So, I am wondering if the source of this new social meme of cycling as the new golf are those humble golfers hoping – seeking – to rid themselves of that pretentious faux-golfing clique through cunningly convincing them to take up cycling instead…
To which I have a cunning counter plan. Let’s set up some exclusive membership cycling clubs for the well-heeled latte Dogma owners recently dispossessed from their Ferrari powered golfing carts. Then we need to convince those elites to concentrate only on the clear social superiority of single speeds and the like. Custom bikes for the custom elites. Bike makers can apply those profits to subsidise the grubby pro-biking tools that only those in the trade would ride… We cyclists could then afford to buy top-end bikes once again. Like Pinarello Dogmas.
But, having run through my argument, I still think this social meme is entirely wrong. Cycling is NOT the new golf. Gymnasium memberships are the new golf. Let’s try and keep it that way!
A Cycling is the New Golf Reading List
Sydney Morning Herald
Bloomberg Business Week
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It’s always a bit curious how cycling manages to attract so many spectators for what, really, is a pretty difficult sport to watch. Track cycling besides, the best we can expect when we go out to watch a race is a fleeting glimpse; a blur of speed, colour and noise. Then they’re gone. And we contemplate the two days it took to fight for our position beside the road, on top of the cliff, and for that motorhome parking lot that European alpine passes become whenever a Tour is on the cards.
So it’s no wonder that the fans try so hard to add a prologue of entertainment of their own, to string out the fun. There’s the company of fans intent on alpine peaks of inebriation; the Tour village fair, and the fun of the pre-peloton parades. Our glimpse of bikes passing by becomes just a fixed point in a much bigger day of cycling social display.
Think of the character of roadside celebrations we can watch as the season goes on. They are at least as entertaining as the bike race to which they are attached.
If we could imagine some kind of scale through which to measure the passions of spectator display, the far left would have to belong to the bemused, frigid indifference beside regimented Chinese roads. The Chinese tifosi are a bit like a plague of satiated zombies just after feeding time. Here, cyclists can almost hear the sound of one hand clapping as they jostle for points. These threadbare crowds are a bit like professional mourners at the funeral of an accomplished anti-social recluse.
Then we move on through the quiet, controlled, still bemused, but definitely curious Middle Eastern cycling crowds. Here, the officials all seem to be wearing swords! In France they just rely on Bernard Hinault’s fists for crowd control…
The Malaysian Tour of Langkawi offers more of the same but with rain forests instead of sand. It’s always fascinating to watch the roadside crowd segment itself into the order of men on one corner and women-only on the next. I always wonder how the dressed-for-modesty spectators might perceive the rather less modestly attired cyclists they have come to watch.
And of course, at the rampaging other extreme, the Italian tifosi rule supreme. How far can you get from those unimpressed Chinese cycling fans? How far is Mars? About that far. Watching those alpine Giro ascents we get another dimension added to the race. The peloton must peak the hill. And thread itself through the raucous, screaming hysteria of the tunnel of cycling fans. Thanks to the crowd, these roads become as narrow as an economist’s perspective on the social benefits of sport.
Italian cycling fans are the true pros of the spectator side of our sport. Their colleagues in France are slightly less rabid depending on how many drunken dutchmen have taken up possies beside the road. The Belgians are scary for the intensity of their dedication; The Spanish seem to confuse the peloton with a running of the bulls… The English are very polite when the yobbos are all off watching their football instead.
There are deep labyrinths of social nuance and history to inform why and how the European crowds perform. This stuff is in their DNA. Have you ever watched the miraculous parting of the wall of fans as the peloton threads its way up a mountain pass? It’s as though these crowds have a collective intelligence of their own. If you could wrap such a scene through the language of mathematical Chaos, you might win a Nobel Prize.
But there is an emerging New World of cycling fans. Most of them are in the US of A. In California, to be exact. Until recently, they simply grafted the appearance without the substance of the European cycling scene. Nutters with horns and funny sumo suits. The emphasis seemed to be on being seen on TV rather than seeing the riders at least some came to watch. These American fans were, once, a bit like one of those American remakes of already successful European movies; like the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and the US rendering of The Office. All super whitened teeth with the intricacies of nuance all squashed out.
But now I am not so sure. Something is afoot. This bear is waking up. These American fans are starting to actually understand. I mean, here we are, ready for Stage 3 and we’ve not seen one single naked American ass… Those fans with wet suits and surfboards running inland up a Cat 2 hill were making some kind of statement I’m still keen to understand… But these four with their Motivational Poster sign are showing some serious class. Now that is a sign of the times and one for the book. It’s now the wallpaper on my iPad home screen. Well done. And what a stunning landscape for a ride! I am starting to really relish this race. Actually, I am enjoying it more than the Giro that’s on at the same time…
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My one surviving association with the university to which I have devoted 25 years too many of my strictly rationed non-cycling time, is to ride straight through to better places with peaceful lakes and the like. Blissfully knowing that the time of my ride is my own time, and my direction is one dictated by tail winds rather than via the wind of some managerial academic dressed for death in a black polyester suit. But there’s a bit of a buzz going on around the leafy tracks, roads and ruts of that academic mini-town. Just like a bunch of flies, or a trail of ants, the highways, bi-ways and one-time walking tracks are now perpetually plastered with twenty-somethings riding e-bikes.
I am one of those who once declared that these things would never, ever, take off. An obesity of sub-contemptable chain store e-motorised two-wheeled bloatware with all the aesthetics and performance of a trolly-wheeled farm gate. Who would ever want to insult cycling with one of those! But taking off they are; just like a fly-by-wire Airbus full of people sipping gin rather than contributing to the dynamics of their ride. Cycling without aesthetics. Cycling with the chain broken between physical prowess and performance. Cycling without cycling. eCycling is cycling for those who don’t understand cycling. eCycling is a foot propelled toy car to daddy’s Ferrari parked alongside.
There’s a deep perversion at work here.
I am reminded of scientists dissecting brains in search of the mechanics and chemistry of pleasure. If we extract this bit of the brain, and short circuit that bit over there, we might isolate out the bits that make us appreciate art and the irrationalities of sport. If we unhitch a few neurones and kill a few synapses here and there, perhaps we can construct a kind of cycling that a zombie, or an economic rationalist, might appreciate! Let’s take the utilitarian essence of cycling and remove it from all the I-Love-Campagnolo, I-Love-Shinano Tour de France hysteria bits. Let’s reduce cycling to the level of what the Tax Office might appreciate!
There they go. Every e-cyclist seems to wear exactly the same benign, disassociated frown. I know that look. I have seen it plenty of times before. It’s the look car drivers have.
e-bikes are the bikes a car driver might ride! When they loose their licence after being caught with drink on their breath.
Which is not to deny that there is a kind of a pleasure to be derived here. If only the pleasure an economic rationalist might derive through knowing how many cents are saved from not having to drive their car. But how much insight could an e-bike rider get into the pleasures of riding a real bike? As much as you could get from only ever watching cycling on TV? Which is not to deny that there are pleasures to cyclists watching e-bikers riding the hills. Have you seen the way they always parody pedal while their motors work hard against gravity? It’s a kind of faux pedalling; pretend pedalling just like the grown ups do when they ride a real bike up a hill… You have to do something with your legs when the gradient heads north. Else you’ll get deep vein thrombosis from lack of use. But it’s the look on their faces that gets me every time. Determined detachment; austere un-pleasure. Robot faces. Faces of people neither here nor there; unknowing the pleasures of muscle powered pedalling or the thrill of riding a real motorbike.
And how must they feel when real cyclists dump them on hills? Or away from the lights, or on a flat in-the-drops stretch. How must they feel? Why, with no feelings at all. Someone who would ride an e-bike would not feel any of these important cycle-snob, psycho-social compulsions at all. They’d not even understand the critical nuances of mountain bike-road bike competitive mutual disdain, let alone the intricacies of masterful race facing et al. Hell, e-bikers probably don’t even know about fixed gear/hipsters let alone the perversions of Shimano on an Italian master-built bike!. They are the kind of riders who, if they were ever to ride in such a thing, would think nothing of wearing their cycling nicks with the chamois on the outside…
OK, so e-bikes are not for me; and probably not for you. But should I be so smugly dismissive of a device that takes patronage away from cars? Isn’t it better that we have e-bikes on the road when otherwise these folk would be driving cars? Could e-biking be some kind of front door into the world of cycling? Possibly, but there is a big problem here. And it’s all to do with the disconnected dementias of the car driver’s brain. Can the simian sensibilities that combine to condemn an individual to a car possibly be sufficient to distinguish an e-biker from a muscle-powered cyclist? Probably not. In the two-way switch of the car driver’s brain the world reduces to the simple polarity of bikes bad: cars good. Anything more complex than that and their brains would fuse…
So with all these e-bikes wobble riding the roads just like motorcyclists who aren’t and cyclists they perhaps might vaguely resemble, the poor old car driver is getting seriously confused. This is worse than the hybrid/chain store no-mountain bike commuter plague. Motorists are used to hybrid commuters treacle pacing up hills. They are tuned to overtaking when ever and where ever they encounter a bike on the road; no matter what. But these e-bikers, while riding with even less than the prowess of their hybrid rider kin, are riding the hills with speeds approaching that of the lycra-carbon clique that at least some car drivers had hitherto come to realise were cyclists otherwise to avoid. Perhaps. At the advanced level of the car driver brain domain.
What will be the consequences of e-bikes should they really take off? While a real cyclist learns handling and road skills through the progress of hard won muscle-tuning time, an e-biker flicks a switch and joins straight in. An e-bike, remember, is still a bike. It was not conceived or designed as some kind of de-powered motorbike. It’s a bicycle with electric motor assist. To ride a bicycle, you need to develop a certain set of physical skills. A cyclist wears into the riding game. Our bodies adapt to the design realities of the bike. Bikes are designed to be pedalled. pedalling requires muscles and muscles provide the balance. Bicycle dynamics are a synergy of mechanics and biology. That’s why a first-time rider usually pains-out after a few miles or so. We need to break our selves into the cycling game. If we were born to ride we would have been born with wheels attached. e-biking takes all this evolutionary adaptation away. It’s like throwing a non-swimmer into the deep end of a pool. e-bikers are now mixing it with car drivers without the armour of physical-skill adaptation. How can you direct a pedal power dynamic-derived machine out of the danger zone when you have yet to master the dynamics of simple control?
We are all going to wear the consequences of heightened car driver rage. We are all going to be relegated to the cycle paths. Get ready for the re-regulation of cycling on our roads. It’s not going to be nice.
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