John Mann's first ride this year

After a hard winter and in and out of hospital for treatment John Mann, our eighty three year old member, looked forward to a trip out on the bike again. John has not been out since the Albert Winstanley memorial ride after which he was beset with a medical problem. John alleviated his illness by riding a set of rollers, as and when he felt up to it, with two half hour sessions a day, morning and afternoon. In between the roller sessions he would hop onto another set of pedals, those on his organ. John has been awaiting a nice slot in the summer weather so we took advantage of this weeks nice day. John's choice for a ride was a trip to Lymm, not for him a short ride up the road. We had this ride planned for when a bit of decent weather arrived, and today was the day.
We enjoyed beans on toast and tea at 'The Bakery' in the centre of the village after approaching Lymm through a little known path that is really picturesque.
We continued our break with an enjoyable chat by the lower Lymm dam, oddly the ducks also took a siesta basking in the mid day sun. It was a day like today that I made my first ever trip to Lymm over sixty years ago, despite a few changes it is still just as attractive.
The return trip was much the same as our outward one, nicer weather though as the afternoon sun was really warm but here and there the strong breeze let us know we still had to push the pedals.
As we parted company at Daisy Hill, John thanked me for the rollers, without them he declared today would have been impossible, but I like to think that John's determination to overcome his health problems was really the bigger factor. Like a man released from isolation, John truly enjoyed today and is looking forward to another, 'Grand Day Out'.

Deflation, inflation.

Just another circuit ride?

Today I got back on my bike after nearly a week of sloth, the weather has improved greatly, a ride on my twenty six mile circuit will be just fine. Strap on the heart rate monitor, select my fixed wheel steed for the ride and away we go.

Usually the highlight of my circuit is a bit in the middle where a short steep hill raises my heart rate from zero to infinity in a mere ten revolutions with pedal revs going rapidly in the opposite direction to a point of, ‘yo-o heave-ho-o’. I gauge my fitness here, if I fall off, I’m useless, if I manage to crawl from bottom to top it’s success, riding up in a controlled manner, boy I’m flying. The latter bit does not occur very often.

So what was different today, well a lot actually. I usually start quietly, nice and steady, if I am feeling a bit stiff or jaded then my condition dictates the ride, today was going to be an easy day. Oh the best laid plans, etc etc.

A glance over my shoulder when approaching a parked car told me I was about to be gobbled up by a fast approaching cyclist, I hate it when they sneak up on you and pass at speed but I accepted that was going to happen.

I was being attacked by a young lady, she passed me with gusto and was clearly enjoying the taking of a scalp, even if there was only a few hairs on it.

Inevitably my rate of progress increased, a challenge is a challenge and this one was a rather attractive one. A set of traffic lights on red gave me the chance to even things up a little, and the drag beyond allowed me to bring the advantage of a low fixed gear into play. A bit of faffing with gear selection gave me the chance I was looking for and shot passed the young lady. Cresting the hill I turned into Lever Park Avenue and a quick glance over my shoulder told me the lady was for turning, and going my way.

She caught me again and as she swept past I chided her a little informing her she had removed me rudely from my comfort zone, the response was a beaming smile. I remained out of my comfort zone, the lady was raising my heart rate rapidly as she began to try to remove me from her back wheel, it’s a long while since a young lady raised my heart rate almost to maximum. Nearing Rivingto Barn I was beginning to hope she was meeting someone there but as we swept past it was obvious she wasn’t and was showing no sign of slowing down either.

At Rivington  Green she indicated right for Sheephouses Lane, ‘I’m glad you are turning right’ I said, ‘ I’m going straight on’ again a beaming smile was the response, she didn’t know how glad I was actually. That pace going up the hill the other side of the reservoirs would have seen me in bits.

Well, the excitement over, pulse monitor reading nearly normal again I settled into my easy going routine with little to look at other than the tarmac and occasional car bumper but thankful of the greenery of the back lanes to Chorley.

My route takes in back streets in a convoluted fashion eventually emerging on the main road to Coppull, it was here that my bike or me began to feel wobbly, a queer sensation that forced me to stop and investigate the cause. I got my leg over the crossbar to dismount so it wasn’t me feeling wobbly, front wheel ok, no loose spokes on the rear, but wait a minute, what’s that big bump on the tyre. The bump turned out to be about three in number, the carcass of the tyre was shredding and brasting apart, not too far from the dreaded almighty bang of an exploding tyre. Over enthusiastic inflation with a track pump on a tired tyre was bringing the tyres life to a violent demise.

First aid was release pressure before a quick search of the saddle pack, have I a spare folding tyre in there, no was the answer to that. Typical, of the three bikes I use most the two with spare folding tyres are back home in the garage.

Think! Ah yes there’s a local bike shop in the town centre, a mere half mile or so away. Back on the bike I slowly meander along fearful of the dreaded bang at any moment but eventually gain the bike shop. Now I often advise use of your local bike shop but unfortunately I am more than twelve miles from Geoff Smith’s shop but very glad that ther is one serving the Chorley district.

Entering the bike shop I am assisted in tyre selection by the proprietor, size, section etc are discussed, Paul Hackin recommends ‘Gatorskins’ so I opt for the one and only tyre on the rack that fits my requirement, a ‘Gatorskin’.

Now I have to purchase a new tyre, definitely not on my training schedule, but needs must and once sorted I change the tyre. Here is where a ‘proper’ local bike shop is recognised, attention to the customer. The guy comes out with a track pump as soon as I am ready for inflation and duly pumps up the tyre for me, he had previously enquired if I needed tools, and in no time at all I am fitting the wheel back in. As I finish chain tensioning, remember I’m on fixed gear, the shop owner hands me a hand cleansing sheet, now how good is that, if you’re ever stuck for bike stuff or service near Chorley head for Rivington Cycles for friendly and knowledgeable service on the main street, town centre.

Wow I’m having a great day, much better than the regular mundane, save for that pig of a hill, training ride.

I now carry on with my ride but due to the unforeseen delay I now head for Adlington and pick up my route again that takes me back to Rivington.

A final amusing encounter, boy it’s all happening today, occurs climbing the long drag up Babylon Lane. A cyclist just ahead of me also turns for Babylon Lane and the distance between us is fairly constant as we each tackle the climb in at a tempo suitable for the gear we are pushing. Part way up the guy in front glances over his shoulder and is now aware he has company and his cadence notably quickens, in response so does mine, the distance between us remains the same. On reaching the top and crossing the motorway bridge the cyclist does something strange, he empties his water bottle. Now I’ve seen the pros get rid of their bottles prior to a sprint, perhaps he’s a semi pro who can’t afford to throw bottles away, nevertheless a strange event.

On the drop back down to the reservoirs at Rivington it was no contest, my fastest cadence on a low fixed gear was no match for a big geared downhill sprint and he disappeared from view.

The rest of the ride home now was at the gentle pace I set out at, the only difference being I was a few quid lighter and the new back tyre being a 23 section instead of the comfy 25 section Michelin Dynamic, certainly let me be more aware of bumps in the road. An eventful ride, and an enjoyable ride that wasn’t even deflated by a worn out tyre. Happy Cycling.

               

fixed gear nut

Fixed gear Nut.

At a time when there are a multitude of new bikes on the market, and new ones entering it seems every day, the purchaser is faced with a price list that runs from down to earth to astro eternity.

Starting point is really a matter of where the new would be cyclist is coming from, £250.00. may seem a fortune to some and not a lot to others.

Experienced cyclists, those with a club background, will of course view a £250.00. bike as a ‘bike shaped object’ that will at some point drive the buyer to such frustration that a neighbour’s skip will be sought in the dead of night. Lesson learned, advice will be much appreciated by the rueful would be cyclist.

So, when in the know, a bike is bought hopefully from a local bike shop, along with a bit more knowledge about bikes and reliability.

Gears, how many? Well how many do you want, after all now you can have as many as thirty three, three up front x eleven behind. Now you have thirty three to choose from what ratios do you want, ‘Eh?’ Oh my god, where do we start.

Well then, I started a long time ago when it was the norm to ride a bike with just one gear, just get on and ride, simples. More often than not that single gear became a fixed gear, after all your mates were on fixed gear as well. Gears were available, the ubiquitous Sturmey 3 speed or the Trivelox deraileur but they were for the ‘older guys’.

The fixed gear was a great leveller in terms of equipment and so reliable with little or, as was so often, no maintenance. A drop of oil on chain and in hubs and that was it, such economy suited my meagre pocket money.

Like the club runs of today, once up to speed, the rides stayed together and if one couldn’t hack it a more suitable ride was sought. Club rides then were also all day affairs, during summer long rides were the norm, 100, 120, and 140 mile rides were frequent. There was no ‘back by four’ or ‘six’, arriving home after nine pm was not unusual.

Today the fixed gear rider is viewed as someone who may just be a bit of a nut, and judging by recent u tube postings of the antics of couriers such a view could be justified.

The majority of today’s cyclists can see no reason at all why anybody would want to ride on the road without gears, after all there are hills to surmount, gears are necessary.

Having been introduced to cycling in the ‘fixed gear era’ it was many years before I resorted to riding a multi geared bike, welcome to easier cycling, well I’m afraid it didn’t quite work out like that. 

Having been out of club cycling for a very long time I found riding any bike hard work but I still had faith in the old fixed wheel, so much so that when I turned up for a ride with the CTC word got round very quickly there was a nut case on the loose. I persevered for a while and mistakenly put my struggling to keep up with younger riders down to the fact that they had gears, and plenty of them, never giving a thought to the fact I was just a lot less fit.

I bit the bullet and purchased a bike with gears, twelve of them, lets see them drop me now I thought. All too soon I found lack of fitness and ignorance of gearing gelled together like nothing on earth.

A trip down to Castleton in Derbyshire with two young sprogs only too eager to get there taught me every thing I needed to know about where I was bike wise or otherwise. We had gone there to meet a group who had been weekend hostelling and if I was weary on getting there, it was nothing to how I felt on the way back.

The major lesson of the day was gear changing when appropriate, when it comes to learning I am a bit thick and never got it right, twelve gears and never in the right one, frustration was the name of the game.

Over the following months nothing much changed except I got a bit fitter but still could not find the gear I needed when it was wanted.

I began to ride with the clarion again after bumping into them on a solo ride in Cheshire, the easy going group riding at an easy going pace allowed me to chat and talk to them. The B group ride became my regular outing, it was so easy going I returned to fixed gear riding again, no longer having to decide what gear to shove in was a bonus, the easy pace gave me no heart aches, I was comfortable.

Forget the crap in magazines about being at one with the bike on fixed but undoubtedly for me, not having to wonder which gear to select when a hill beckoned made life a lot easier.

The revelation of riding a single fixed gear came home to me while actually riding my geared bike, my first ride with the longer distance ride, the A group. The ride was to Arnside and being a long ride of over 100 miles I thought the gears would come in handy, they did but not in the way I had anticipated.

Leaving Bolton via Tudor Avenue the pace was quite hot, a strong tailwind was assisting but it wasn’t the only thing blowing, the pace up the drag had me reaching once more for gears that did nothing to assist an easy passage. As I found the going harder I dropped the gears, the lower the gear the harder it got, I only just made it to the lights on Chorley New road, I thought I was going to die.

Once we got going again I moved the gears up then what happened next truly brought home to me the advantage of a fixed gear. I looked down at the gears when I felt comfortable and realised I was in a gear that I had used for mile after mile all those years ago, eureka, I’ve found it.

The group was moving fast, the tail wind was a real bonus allowing  a pace that had to be around ‘evens’, that’s twenty MPH, often the holy grail of club runs, and I was in the right gear. I reckoned I was pushing around a sixty eight inch gear, I was so comfortable, my breathing became easy, the going became easy. I never changed gear again all day, fearful that if I did the wheels would once again drop off.

The first tea break was at Garstang where the leader remarked he had never been up the A6 so fast in his life, I was so self satisfied I felt like singing, I didn’t of course, you don’t want others to know you had been struggling, if you do they’ll make it more so.

From that point on fixed gear became my favourite mode and even when a hilly route dictated gears I could ride with confidence in a gear I could stay on top of.

To emphasise the point, I have ridden all our reliability rides, 100, 150, and 200 kilometre on fixed gear, plus our ‘All night ride’, I have a club ‘Night Owl’ badge or two for that. The all night ride takes in Belmont, Salmesbury Bottoms, over Mellor, Ribchester, Geoffrey Hill, Chipping, Trough of Bowland, Forton Services and back down the A6. Those rides have been very eventful, riding the hills in pitch dark is easier when you can’t see them, a great event. 

Years on, my favourite gear is now around sixty three inches, not a gear for riding with a fast group but one I can manage even with my dodgy knees, I find the low gear that whizzes my legs round on a downhill very therapeutic, it would be very dodgy if they seized up at 130 RPM.

I have just two bikes on gears, one hardly used as it’s set up for time trials, one for hilly rides and hostelling, the rest of my stable are fixies, a heavy shopper, one with mudguards, two road going track, two track specific and one rusty heap permanently mounted on a turbo trainer.

I just love riding on my own on fixed gear, it can seem hard going uphill at times but the exercise is very anaerobic, gears in reverse, big gear uphill, low gear down and I don’t have to keep up with anyone.

If you try fixed gear riding, beware, it could become addictive and become like me, a fixed wheel nut.         

An Autumn day in Summer.

A day out with Autumn. Delamere Station, Cheshire.

With many members away in Belgium, Mike, our runs secretary was a little concerned at the prospect of members turning up for the A group ride and finding no one there. I volunteered to meet anyone arriving on the town hall square and decide what to do on the day.

The intended ride was to Henbury but the only ones to arrive for the A ride were two were actually non members, both of whom were so quick I would have been an encumbrance to their enjoyment of a day out. One was quick to see the dire prospect of a day out with a geriatric and declined the ride, the other fit young man did however agree to accompany me in joining the B group ride. As Peter had expressed the need for a guide to Delamere Station through the Cheshire narrow lanes labyrinth I readily agreed to the invitation.

Today we were to be accompanied by Autumn Barlow, a columnist for the fairly new cycling who is gaining widespread recognition for seeking out ‘unusual’ cycling experience’s . Bolton clarion can certainly provide a good deal of that. As Autumn appears on the town hall square she seems to be preoccupied searching out something or some place resorting at last to reading the large town centre map close to our meeting place. Off she goes again seeking what I wonder, Autumn quickly reappears and at last asks the question, ’where are the toilets?’ Costa or McDonalds replies Peter. Again she disappears then suitably relieved returns as we begin the ride across the town hall square. We are interrupted by a shout, this time Autumn discovers she has left her glasses in the toilet and makes a hasty retrieval, little knowing that these events are second nature to our clarion rides.  

With four over seventies on the ride one might think it was a regeneration of ‘Last of the summer wine’ but on wheels, not so. Though we should be at our age be ‘doddering’, it’s not the case, despite the dodgy knees and arthritic complaints the foursome are quite up to riding up to a hundred miles on a summer day. ‘Doctor, I’m finding I’m knackered after doing a hundred miles, what can you prescribe ?

The start to the ride from Bolton and on through Leigh is a little less than exciting  cycling the byways and streets that shout out the bygone industrial age these towns were built on.   Cycling through these suburbs I am wondering all the time what our guest rider may be thinking, not the most impressive surroundings.

Once through Leigh we begin to see a gradual change as we approach Culcheth then down on to Holcroft Lane where open arable landscapes appear, now this more like it.

At Hollins Green a short break is taken and John Martin’s bike does its usual trick of refusing to go any further forcing him to return to Bolton once again.

Warburton Bridge looms ahead and once over this impressive landmark we can say we are truly now in the attractive Cheshire lanes so beloved of cyclists around this area.

The climb up Broomedge brings a surprise as Peter points out that the Willow Pool garden centre is up for sale, ah memories of sumptuous ice cream sundaes and other goodies over the years at the cafe there.

Making our way over a motorway bridge we are passed by a large group of cyclists, cheerful acknowledgments and banter are exchanged, grins are the answer to my remark that they are being unsociable. The odd thing is, once they passed us they adopted the same pace as ourselves so we swing on the back appreciative of the shelter the now large group affords.

The group turn out to be the Nova cycling club, a Manchester based club of many years standing , not as old as our venerable club but still well respected. A conversation with a lady member reveals they are on their annual 75 mile reliability ride over to Tattenhall and their route turns out to the same as ours, until that is, we turn off for our first break at Dones Green. A cheery wave and thank you for the back wheels is acknowledged  as we separate and head for the ‘Let’s Eat Cafe’.

The cafe is busy, not hard to figure that out, the large number of bicycles parked outside indicate that. I, as usual park my bike and head into the cafe, ah, no one queuing making me first of our group to be served.

I was joined at the table by Autumn and I recalled the landmarks we had passed giving a little insight to the ride. I was surprised really by the fact that as a columnist she did little to show any inclination to dig for facts but showed great interest in the ride across Cheshire. I of course asked the questions one usually asks of a new acquaintance, where from, how long but avoiding the killer ‘how old’.

Suitable fed, eggs and bacon, beans etc we make ready for the next phase of the ride to Delamere Station and by now the sun is high and quite hot, lovely, summer is here, along with Autumn.

From Acton Bridge the ride is transformed, for a start there are hills to be climbed, but the hard work is well worth the effort. When I say hard I have to qualify that description as both Autumn and Lambro just romped up the steep hill to Acton Bridge as if they were on a mere pimple whilst the seventy plus guys, all rising to the challenge, spluttered and wheezed their way to the top, no mean feat as I’ve seen far younger legs giving way before now.

The tree lined lanes look magnificent, dappled sunlight lending a touch of magic to the scenery, a cloudless blue sky and the sun reaching its zenith , all contributing to the ‘perfect day’.

Delamere Station, well what a destination on a sun drenched afternoon, little wonder it is so popular with walkers, cyclists and ramblers, the cafe offering refreshment second to none. As it is not too long since egg and bacon at Dones Green, a sweet is a natural choice, after the protein comes the carbs, and mine consist of apple and rhubarb crumble with two scoops of delicious ice cream. A poplar choice of the others is cheesecake, it looks so nice I am greedily eyeing their generous helping.

A nice leisurely break is enjoyed sitting outdoors on the bench seats, another cycling club is also there in numbers, the famous Manchester Wheelers, a name synonymous with the track icon of the forties and early fifties, Reg Harris.

Time to move on and we begin to retrace our route but with a slight detour, returning via Great Budworth, a beautiful old village with black and white timber framed cottages lining the lane through, the red sand stone church at the top of the hill standing proud. Ancient stocks and a shady lane beside the church completes the picture perfectly, a photo call here is a must. Lambro again shows his proficient hill climbing technique and romps up the steep hill through the village quicker than a deer bounding across open moorland, I think we must be boring him with our more sedate gait.

Photo call done and we are already looking to our next port of call a few miles down the road, easy miles at that as we are now on the flat Cheshire plain heading for High Legh and the old village schoolroom. However half a mile or so before the schoolroom is reached a shout from behind indicates a problem, Ray has a puncture. The puncture seems to be a slow one so Peter delves into his bag and produces a co2 canister pump, a quick squirt into the innertube and the tyre is hard again, but for how long, with a shout to Ray to ‘sprint’ before it deflates again, he duly complies and makes it to our tea stop.

 On Sunday afternoons during summer the schoolroom serves as a cafe and is manned on a rotational basis by voluntary groups raising money for their charity or voluntary group. All the food is home made and so good that customers come from miles around, wind rain or blow its popularity never wanes, and today its business as usual.   

Again we relax in the afternoon sun and I begin to note Autumn’s observational quality, she listens intently to our sometimes inane conversation and is quick on the humorous side of comment, I think her success as a columnist is derived from this ability, no notebook and pencil here.

Back on the bikes for the downhill swoop past once more Broomedge and the Willowpool garden centre, it is far more pleasurable passing at speed than grovelling up the other direction. At the very bottom where the lane disappears under the canal bridge the traffic lights are on green for go, a very rare event indeed as most times we are stopped by a red traffic light, I can say with great honesty I can only recall landing on green once before, and it’s many years I have been travelling down here.

On through and over Warburton Bridge again and Ray declares a ‘soft’ tyre again, a change of innertube is now imminent. We gain the village, Hollins Gren and off the busy main road and Ray sets to with the repair. As Ray begins the repair Petr takes off with Autumn to view the unique sign at the village pub inviting all cyclists to use the toilets, no purchase of drink necessary, this has afforded a great relief to many.

Back at the puncture, Ray upends his bike to remove the rear wheel, he then discovers his tools etc are in the rack pack, access only from right way up, he smiles ruefully at me, good job there’s only me there.

Get the bike upright again and remove tools and spare tube, bike upended again and wheel removed, tube changed assistance replacing the tyre, all that’s required now is inflation. Peter eagerly produces the co2 cartridge pump again, inflating a tyre with these gadgets is a piece of cake, err well, most times it is. Instead of a quick inflate peter is quickly deflated as the cartridge proves to be empty, one of those I don’t believe it moments transpires. Poor Ray is reduced to pumping the tyre with a mini pump, now mini pumps take a notoriously long time to fully inflate a tyre, unless of course you have the ability of Superman to move the pump handle at the speed of light, Ray doesn’t have that ability so has to endure a comment of ‘faster Ray’. All taken in good humour, I think.

Autumn seems to be enjoying the moment, no doubt an episode to rival the original Last of the Summer Wine moments.

All we have to look forward to now is the end of the ride, the urban drag to be endured rather than enjoyed but good company helps to shorten the miles.

From feedback off facebook the ride seems to have been enjoyed by all and has been the longest ride of the year for most. For myself I’m happy to have the trademark of summer cycling, milk bottle white body, sun tanned arms and legs where short sleeved tops and shorts leave a sharply defined demarcation, happy days!     

Sky Ride and recruitment of new members.

A close look at ourselves as a club.

With the Bolton Sky ride impending and Peter receiving emails and information on the event, discussion took place among members with a view to taking part.

Taking heart from the fact that we have already been blessed with several new members it was decided that we would take up the offer of a gazebo dedicated to Bolton clarion on the day of the event. 

At fairly short notice members set about contributing to a display, runs Sec. Mike Singleton drew up a flyer, Peter took up the organising, Frank Bibby displayed a colourful collection of clarion jerseys while I drew from a collection of photos ( Rodney Bryan collages) depicting the clubs diversity of cycling and past personalities.

The time for setting up our gazebo coincided with the time and place for departure of our usual club rides, the town hall square, 8.30 am. Mike Singleton re-organised the clubrides of the day so that the club could participate in the event while still fitting in the all important club run.

A beautiful sunny morning was a preamble to the days events, a bit of a chilly wind being a bit of a minus but with the club wholeheartedly supporting the our input it also meant that our great new club strip dominated the busy goings on. A chance of one of our best photo calls advertising Bolton clarion was not to be missed, our facebook page would be bang up to date this evening.      
As the event started the town hall square was full of enthusiastic mums dads and youngsters and by mid day there was hardly room to move. One person who did manage to remain mobile was member Ian Littlewood, busy doing the rounds as official photographer, I would love to see an album of things from Ian. Ian himself was photographed, he was surprised at the result of the Polaroid image from the retro camera from the charity shop.
From time to time it got very cold as cloud covered the sun, Bill McFadden went home to change into warmer clothing coming back in a fleecy winter jacket. Peter Moore and Dave Bisset jumped on their bikes every now and then to do a circuit of the short Sky Ride to restore circulation. The sausage rolls and coffee certainly kept Dave on the go, I think he set a record for the most circuits.
The lads off the Rufford ride re appeared, after enjoying an apparently rapid run, they crowded round the clarion gazebo, this encouraged passers by to stop and look at what we had to offer
It was good to meet interested members of the public, one or two were of particular Bolton clarion interest, one lady showing interest in our old photographs turned out to be non other than the niece of Sid Clemmet, the Sid Clemmet award is our most prestigious  trophy only awarded for outstanding merit.
David Wolstencroft, son of Frank Wolstencroft, former long time member member who's cycling has been cut short due to arthritic problems. It was good to catch up on an update of David's brothers Stephen and Mark, both former club members, and Frank's brother Peter, we all went back to Leigh Premier road club years as well.
In terms of the event being good for Bolton clarion it will be a case of wait and see, will our positive efforts return positive results, one thing is for sure, the event has reinvigorated the will of the members to progress the club in the community. I think the day has been a success.     

I could not believe it!!

Friday, two days after my day of woe, and I set forth again on my trackie bike to ride my 26 mile Coppull circuit. The day was fine but extremely breezy, nice enough again for short sleeve top and shorts. The ride was going well, on through Rivi and down Long Lane to Chorley, I was sprinting (in a fashion) up the hills allowing myself to enjoy the agony of lactic acid coursing through the legs,ooh ahh ooh!!

Swooping down the hill at Cowling I felt the front tyre going soft, sh..! I was going to use the momentum for another shot of pain ascending the short steep with as much gusto as possible without falling off half way up due to legs knotting up. I eased to a stop and checked the front wheel, yep, definitely going soft, another puncture. 'I don't believe it'.

A slick repair and I am off again but starting on a hill in a fixed gear is a bit different than having a run at it so it's a bit of a struggle to the top. 

Fortunately I am able to finish the ride without further problems, other than getting up the hills at pace that is. The longer hills present a problem that I am working on, not being able to sprint to the top I just settle down to excruciating pain over longer periods, the only trouble is, the pain slows me down thus extending the time to the top. If only the feeling of ecstasy felt going down the other side lasted as long the ride would be perfect, but then again nothing ever is.