Always good to watch something nice while working
Forecast the night before not great but still worth trying it.
However the only thing accurate on this was the temp – stepped out the car and puddles were all frozen.
Beach is so great – well for beginners – most pure surfers head south of Dunbar for the rock reefs – but more closed in than here and less suited to kiting. But today was crap – was forecast to be 19-23mph but was barely 7 …. so had a long drive for a 5km walk.
Fat Franks are useless – after the third puncture in as many months have put on schwalbe marathon plus tires complete with slime filed tubes. No good on the yuba although may put them on the Klein….
UPDATE: Since put on my Klein – see the look here …
Oh no big Friday is coming and my throat is killing me and snotty as hell. Not helped by filming in cold Barras and cycling and filming glasgow green yesterday.
Today filming Lau and Inge Thompson in Edinburgh and dreaming of long lie instead of being downstairs drinking Lemsip at 3:50am.
Going to have to disguise the cold otherwise will have spousal dispute regarding going into 2 degree water.
Power of thought ‘cmon spring into action.’
Not a bad commute for the morning at 22 degrees C.
Not bad for a working week – working 7 days a week so fitting in the exercise is important. Trying to get over an hour a day of exercise – really want to lose some weight and get a bit quicker … my runs have been slow since the cold.
This is a goodbye to Garmin Training Log as well as moving on to Movescount the Suunto calendar and community page. Just sold the Garmin 405 to a pal and looking forward to trying out the Suunto T6C which should be waiting for me at home.
I did a brief review of apps a while back – thought it was time that I reviewed the ones that still stay on my iPhone …
MOTION X Pro
I paid for this app – it is a great sub for a dedicated gps unit. It is very quick to pick up signals and lock on to the satellite signal. If you are buying an app as a dedicated gps then this is the one. For purely cycling or running there may be better.
CYCLEMETER (bike App)
A more basic gps application. Screen comes up horizontal layout which is a better use of space on the screen. The top shows duration – centre shows speed with odometer below. On the left there is an average speed display and a maximum speed display. On the right is a trip display and a large Start button which once pressed turns into a STOP button. Ease of Use is the primary benefit. Tracks can be saved and also uploaded to everytrail
A good gps unit equally good for biking or running. I have done 2 screengrabs. It is a vertical display on black background that is easy to read.
Vitals shows Speed and Distance and Duration. Good for cycling.
Stats shows avg pace / avg speed and odometer
Downloaded for trial. Not one I will describe and recommend here.
Another good vertical display. Again more for bikes. Display shows Elapsed Time / Distance / Average Speed and Current Speed. Bottom half of screen is map display. Again this can be uploaded to GPSies where there are tools and tracks to share. While app is quite basic the website is versatile.
As it says on the app – running is in the name itself. Two screen displays – a read out of time avg pace and calories at the top and a map below.
Second screen shows /min splits. I believe in the pro version you can change this to /km splits. A good running app which will serve most runners well.
A really nice running app – I like the display and the readouts on this app – think it is the nicest app for running.
Display shows Distance / Time / Pace / Calories
Below it shows splits showing altitude climbed and /km splits. You can them email your route – it attaches a gpx file and also allows you to see the route in Google Earth.
Trying out movescount the website community for Suunto Users. Looks pretty good and the analysis software on site is much better than Garmin Connect. I particularly like the EPOC and Training Effect of the new watch – the S6C. Better for HRM than my old Polar 625x and a GPS built in like my Garmin 405.
Good old eBay – someone’s unwanted old toy
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Fantastic video – the man is so smooth.
‘Every city has its indigenous bike culture, the result of a subtle interaction of people with transport infrastructure, built environment, traffic regulations and bylaws, social custom and practice. To make a transition from cycling in one city to another is both to encounter novelty and difference and to see your origins anew.
I’ve just moved from living, and cycling, in London for a quarter of a century – a period during which so much has changed for cyclists that I might almost say Britain’s capital has evolved from having virtually no cycling culture to boasting an extraordinarily rich and various ecosystem of symbiotic and co-existent cycling subcultures. London cyclists have gone from being a fringe minority of hardened campaigners and slightly embittered cranks squeezed into the gutter by careless cab-drivers and barrelling buses, to becoming, in parts of the central congestion zone, The Traffic: a self-sustaining rush-hour of bicyclists of every stripe – from single-speed hipsters, to sleek-chic sportivistes, to basket-proud and be-panneried tweed or heeled types.
Bike shops long since evolved to survive and thrive. The old school rule of taciturn churlishness, by which bikeshop staff conducted a kind of rearguard, teeth-sucking class war that involved belittling customers as much as possible by rubbing their noses in their lack of technical knowledge and velo-savvy, is almost extinct. These days, I will go out of my way to go back to a shop with a sullen staffer who is reluctant to accept me as reasonably expert in the mysteries of bike mechanics – out of sheer nostalgia for the ancient regime of retail masochism. It can seem preferable, sometimes, to having someone press a skinny chai latte on me as I try to purchase a pair of tyre levers, as bike shops have more and more gone the way it may of book shops and sports cafes, with coffee bars and HD TV screens. It may be only a matter of time before someone Abercrombie’n’Fitch’s the bike trade: then there’ll be a guy with great legs – shaved, of course – and wearing only a pair of cycling shorts opening the door to you, and then some superfit Amazonian type on walkabout to take your credit card payment with one of those queue-eliminating Apple Store devices.
Having moved to New York recently, I feel I’ve seen some of that future -though also, paradoxically, some of our recent past. Bike chic is so in right now that you feel that just turning up at a venue on a bike will, by itself, get you into openings, launches and parties. People will tell you they just saw David Byrne (ex-Talking Heads bicycle diarist) riding down the street. Bicycles make props in the window displays of half the ultra-trendy new mega-boutiques in the former meat market district around West 14th and Gansevoort Street downtown. Mannequins in high heels are posed one legakimbo over the new Manhattanite hipster bikes that owe their style to one part Hoxton-style fixie, three parts trad Schwinn cruiser.
And yet, and yet… cycling culture in New York still feels a little marginal and underdeveloped. Mayor Bloomberg’s efforts at implementing a more bikeable cityscape have proved patchy at best. While Broadway now has a sequestered bike lane, it’s not much used – except by properly blue-collar Latino guys riding the wrong way. So you take your chances on the wide avenues where the yellow cabs have only two speeds – 5mph or 50mph – and nothing in between. Or you take the Riverside Park bikeway that runs all the way along the Hudson River from Battery Park City, west of Wall Street, up to Harlem and Washington Heights. But then you take your chances dodging the joggers and runners and skaters, the hotdog-eaters and pretzel-munchers, the Chelsea piers golf-range goers and USS Intrepid tourists, and the occasional echt New York derelict happily returning from the Giulianian purges of the homeless.
And this glorious, maddening anarchy is the striking, salient feature of NewYork bike culture. It makes London, even with its rogues’ gallery of red-light runners and pavement riders, seem like a city of almost Soviet conformity and order and rule-boundedness. In New York bike culture, you have a microcosm of the dynamic, creative chaos that is American capitalist enterprise. Sure, there are traffic regulations, but the cops seem deeply uninterested in applying them insofar as they apply to cyclists. So, your Chinese and Hispanic takeout delivery guys whirr around on their electric bikes completely without regard to the designation of traffic direction.Therefore, a cyclist who stops at red is seen not even as a self-righteous stickler (which might be thought in London), but as an inexplicable fool, practically a nuisance. As long as a cyclist doesn’t recklessly endanger a pedestrian on a crossing, no one bats an eyelid about a cyclist ignoring the signal and going through: there’s absolutely no expectation that a cyclist would stop. To stop at red would be French, or socialist. Possibly both. So, you do as you choose and if you don’t wear a helmet or have health insurance, well, that’s your lookout.
A similar liberty with dress codes applies, also. In London, we are tribal and class-conscious: what we wear when we ride around town is a statement, either deliberate or by default, about who we are and where we’re pegged in the social hierarchy. I get dressed to ride in London, my appearance on the bike as important as my appearance when I get off it as my destination. I eschew lycra and obvious bike gear, especially anything that smacks of dayglo functionality. Equally, I avoid baggy, flapping clothing; I aim for a trim, tailored look. Even though I ride a fixed, I am careful to avoid the solecism of seeming to pass myself off as a messenger. At the same time, I dress “up” a little, wearing a tie, say, in order to distinguish myself fogeyishly from the self-fashion-consciousness of the Old Street stylists.(Riding a bike in low-slung jeans – how is that even possible?) But I look forward to when it gets cold enough to start wearing my prototype Classic Softshell Jacket, with its now slightly dicky zip and worn-through thumbloops. It’s a look that, I hope, says I’m a serious cyclist, but not so serious that I’m trying too hard. And there’s always a message about class encapsulated in all that: I’m identifying as metropolitan middle-class, but of the knowing, dissenting, ironic subset thereof, and – god forbid – nothing like a not-know-any-better bourgeois.
Here in New York, such carefully calibrated sartorial semiotics would be completely wasted. Maybe Park Slope and Williamsburg in Brooklyn have their subtly differentiated cycling subcultures, where people read your type from the bike you ride and what you wear to ride in. But in Manhattan, I haven’t seen it. Bikes and cycling seem still very functional, so people dress for how they want to look at A and at B, without worrying about how they look in between – virtually the reverse of my London-indoctrinated sensibility.
The bicycles themselves are symptomatic. From the hordes of team and club cyclists who do laps of Central Park in the early morning, or who ride over George Washington Bridge to get out of the city at the weekend, there’s no shortage of people with seriously high-end road bikes. But the bikes people use to get around town? The parking stands on street corners are like improv museums: I have never seen so many really historic Peugeots and Schwinns, bikes with wheels with steel rims, five-speed derailleurs, gear levers mounted on downtubes and headtubes, lugged steel frames when lugged steel frames were still the basis of domestic mass manufacture. These are the bikes that time forgot; it’s hard to believe they’re still running – it’s akin to seeing the streamlined, tailfinned American automobile classics which famously still cruise Havana. The strange contradiction here is that, the market for $10,000 carbon roadbikes aside, New Yorkers seem as yet to have little concept of the bicycle as a consumer object in its own right.The bikes they use to get about on are remarkably, weirdly utilitarian.
It may just be changing. A new shop just opened in Chelsea, I noticed, almost as I arrived. In the window, single-speed cranksets anodised in a colour palette that would not be amiss in a designer soap shop; hubs and rims to match. So, perhaps that urban cycling chic savoir-faire, which I feel I’ve been watching and learning in London these past few years, is on the cusp of arriving here. In three months, those bikes in the windows on West 14th Street may be three parts Hoxton, one part Schwinn. Designers and their customers will discover the joys of Sportwool and merino, in place of polyester and stretch cotton. Perhaps people will even dress to be seen on their bike, as much as off it. It’ll soon be cool enough for my beat-up old Classic Softshell Jacket. I can’t wait to wear it again – even if I’m the only person who’ll notice.’
Matt Seaton has written extensively for Rapha and Rouleur and is author of The Escape Artist.
Had a weird day at work and was looking forward to ride home. Storm was brewing and there was nice lightning flashes in the sky. Wind was up and suddenly poodling along with wind on my back doing 30km/h started getting distracted by my taillights random flashing of red against the palm trees behind me then ‘bam’ smack into the kerb.
Years of falling off the mountain bikes have served me well obviously as I got away with just a scratch on my toe (wearing Birkenstocks) and a cut on my knee forearm and pinkie. Pride not intact. Bike pretty good too … S-bag scuffed on the tar, dusted up and minute cut on side pocket. Brooks saddle has first character wound but that was it. Glad I left the laptop in the office. ‘Mmmm must pay more attention’
’Do you know how we keep going? Look this is cocaine, chloroform, too. And Pills? You want to see pills? Here are three boxes – We run on dynamite.’
Henri Pelissier – tour de france winner 1923
He died young at 46 – but it wasn’t the drugs. He was killed by his lover with the gun that his wife had used to commit suicide. Those crazy French
There is a fascinating book called Tourmen: The Men Who Made The Tour de France by Les Woodland. In chapter 5 Woodland gives an insight into Pélissier’s life and the unfortunate relationships with the women in his life:
Pélissier was ahead of his time but his life was never happy. Maybe it was conceit at so much talent, of being the sort of man who gets hailed in the street by Tour de France winners, a man whom stars take to Italy on a whim. Léonie, his wife, despaired of him and shot herself in 1933. Three years later Henri took a lover, Camille Tharault, who was 20 years younger. He loved her and called her Miette but their life was row after row. On May 1, 1935, in the kitchen of their villa at Dampierre, outside Paris, Pélissier lunged with a knife, cutting her face. She ran in tears to their bedroom, pulled out the revolver with which Léonie had shot herself, ran back to the kitchen and found Pélissier waiting with the knife.
She pulled the trigger five times. A bullet hit him in the carotid artery and blood spurted across the room. His body was placed in the room where Léonie had killed herself. Next day,Paris-Soir screamed
THE TRAGIC END OF HENRI PÉLISSIER surprises no-one at Dampierre‘If I’d had the money I would have left him long ago’ the murderess said yesterday
Camille’s trial opened a year later. She pleaded self-defence and got a year’s suspended jail sentence. It was as close as the court could come to acquitting her.
Rob Douglas is the new Outright Record holder with 55.65 knots.