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mince pies, coffee, creamy hot chocolate and a tractor

this is the time of year for repeating creative mythology. christmas cards, movies and well-meaning parents all reiterate the concept of a large, jolly, bearded man, departing the north-pole on christmas eve aboard a sleigh drawn by several reindeer, the lead of which features a red nose. that sleigh is filled to the brim with wrapped presents, all to be delivered to good boys and girls across the entire world via household chimneys, before the clock chimes midnight.

though most freight companies have re-modelled themselves as logistics providers, the above mentioned distribution exercise is likely the most comprehensive logistics exercise known to man and elfkind. however, it must surely be true, for the north american aerospace defense command (norad) features a web page that tracks santa's movements from leaving the north pole until he returns several hours later. and we all know how serious are the chaps and chapesses at air defence; surely they would never lie to us?

however, though i'm loathe to burst this particular festive bubble, i'm sorry to inform you that the santa myth is not entirely true. i have no evidence that mr claus does not, in fact, live at the north pole, nor indeed, that he does not deliver all those welcome presents to the children of the world. but i can confirm, based on first-hand evidence, that santa does not ride in a sleigh drawn by reindeer. in fact, santa drives a red massey ferguson tractor. i know this, because he overtook the velo club peloton yesterday afernoon as we strove manfully for the junction at bridgend.

and he was not alone. but a few metres ahead, were two of his helpers in yet another red massey ferguson, with front and rear windscreens festooned with christmas decorations and a modicum of holly. so obviously i'm not telling fibs. in fact, one of our number had the chutzpah to sneak in behind the elves' tractor as it passed, benefiting from some festive drafting. so you can ask him, if you don't believe me.

this timely meeting with santa was a most appropriate end to the annual mince-pie ride, a yuletide happenstance that has been a part of the velo club's season for many a long year, and no doubt one that takes place on pre-christmas club rides all across the country. i think i should pay tribute at this point, to pat jones of coull farm, who insists each year, on making possibly the most wonderful mince pies this side of easter island, specifically for this pre-christmas event. and also to aileen at debbie's who, despite having misplaced the chris king coffee tamper, managed to provide superb coffee and hot chocolate accompaniment on sunday lunchtime.

i'd hesitate to claim that this is the high point of the cycling season, but it must surely be up there with the ride of the falling rain, the tour de islay and any other notable bike ride that i might later care to remember. given that the biscuit tin containing those excellent mince pies, like any decent box of chocolates, featured two layers, there was no reason to ration the pies, a fact that was demonstratively exploited by certain members of the peloton.

if there was a downside to any day on which santa passed on a tractor, it was probably the weather. hardly unexpected at this time of year, persistent drizzle and temperatures barely above three degrees, were very much not those forecast by xcweather. in fact, according to those very meteorologists, we should have been experiencing temperatures double those mentioned above, augmented by a few hours of unadulterated sunshine. still, if you are passed by santa in a tractor, what is there to complain about?

photo: tom hunter. mince pies: pat jones. coffee and hot chocolate: aileen macdougall

monday 20 december 2021

size matters

when lockdown was imposed in march 2020, the velo club peloton became somewhat decimated. many decided not to ride at all on sunday mornings, while the rest of us paid heed to british cycling's advice to no longer ride in a group. i've mentioned before that i was a tad surprised to learn that the strict definition of the word 'group', means more than one, so the two of us who regularly perambulated the estates together, divided our energies, frequently over the same parcours, but ten or fifteen minutes apart.

a corollary of these new enforced arrangements was the lifelong meeting place outside debbie's. if we were all riding individually, no longer was there any need to ride 15km south west to start the ride; the new age demanded new arrangements. and those new arrangements also demanded a route that would bring us to debbie's at precisely noon o'clock.

the ferry service to and from the island is classed as a 'lifeline service', recognition of which reduced it to one return sailing per day and none on sundays. since this meant no sunday newspapers, debbie's no longer had need of opening prior to twelve noon. if we arrived earlier on days of inclement weather, it was a case of either huddling from rain and wind, or accepting our fate and cycling homeward, sans coffee. thus, the route still in force some 22 months later, was specifically designed to facilitate a soya latte.

but one other notable alteration to the cycling fraternity, begun almost two decades past, was the enforced absence of the mighty dave-t. both he and mrs mighty are not in the first flush of youth, the very age category advised by the government to shield or isolate. thus, the mighty dave-t began riding alone, ploughing his own furrow, so to speak, isolating from any harm that might be harboured by the greater peloton, and staying away from debbie's altogether. it's a situation that continues to this very minute in the light of the latest omicron variant.

a number of kind correspondents e-mailed last year to enquire after the great man's health, following the disappearance of the mighty dave's words of the week. since i was no longer blessed with his company or wit, it was not possible to continue that popular series that once featured at the top of this very page. there were occasions on the odd sunday, that we would meet the mighty dave heading in the opposite direction to ourselves, at which point there would be a 'hail fellow, well met' moment, during which pleasantries would be exchanged before we headed of in our respective directions.

sadly, though these occasions were hardly frequent, latterly they have drifted into non-existence, so it seemed time, given the approaching festive season, to take a bike ride to port wemyss in the extreme south west of the rhinns of islay, just opposite orsay lighthouse, separated from the portnahaven coast by what the mighty dave refers to as his 'water feature'. and what better way to deliver a christmas card to mr and mrs mighty dave, than by bicycle?

i had intended to undertake this trip last saturday, but persistent rain from morning till night, prevented any cycling whatsoever, never mind the 60km round trip to port wemyss. however, though nowhere near the forecast for the day, yesterday was more than suitable for the bike ride, the undertaking of which threw up a hitherto unseen problem, one that needs serious negotiation and compromise by one or both interested parties. anyone else who has attempted to take christmas cards by bicycle will probably also have learned that very few cards are of a size or shape that fits into a jersey rear pocket without bending or folding.

the delivery process was ultimately carried out by musette.

so, before next christmas, surely it is within the remit of both cycling apparel providers and card designers and printers, to agree on a standard that will easily fit into the average jersey pocket, the packaging needing only to sport a small bicycle logo indicating the card's suitability for this purpose. the cards themselves need display not velocipedinal affiliation, simply the appropriateness of their constitution. surely that isn't too hard an ask?

and since you did ask, mr and mrs mighty dave are in the peak of health, and dave's humour has not diminished one iota. would that we all make it to his age with such fitness and demeanour.

sunday 19 december 2021

maybe it's not me after all

phil cavell's midlife cyclist, an excellent book reviewed in these very pixels, is one that holds appeal for a wide range of velocipedinists. obviously enough, it is of specific interest for those of us who optimistically regard ourselves as middle-aged, or just a smidgeon past that moving target. however, it is also pertinent currency for those heading towards whatever counts as middle-aged these days, keen to prepare for either the best or worst that the ageing process might bring.

the principal message delivered by mr cavell is the inevitability not only of middle-age and its attendant and possibly apocryphal, mid-life crises, but the fact that it doesn't have to hit our cycling activity as hard as a it might without user intervention. nonetheless, there is likely to be an inevitable slowing-down, as bones, muscles and energy-storage no longer perform as they did when youth flowed through our veins.

as a non-competitive cyclist (and not an athlete: i'm not on strava, so i fear such an appellation is not mine to behold), i confess that phil's writings may have arrived a few years too late to instigate the likelihood of degeneration being headed off at the pass, but i continue to watch my diet in relation to my cycling activities, the necessary fitness and the frequency with which i ride my bicycle. what is of less concern is my speed and climbing ability, both of which are noticeably in decline, but with only the latter causing any real regret.

each week, as we ascend the col du rspb at aoradh farm, i seem to be drifting farther and farther off the back, with little chance of remedying the situation. such apparent lethargy is hardly unexpected. even david millar, in the film time-trial, declares himself dismayed by the fact that, as he gets older, he can no longer keep up with those he was once able to distance. as one who has read richard moore's in search of robert millar more than thrice, i was usually the one who summitted ahead of everyone else. nowadays i can only be nostalgic for those halcyon days of yore.

of course, it's worth bearing in mind that many of those whose rear wheels i watch disappearing into the distance are more than just several years my junior, yet to reach the indefinable middle-age, and quite possibly blissfully unaware of the impending doom that currently afflicts yours truly. i'd love to think that one day i will be able to gloat over their inevitable tardiness, but by then, i will probably have had to resort to an e-bike just to remain within striking distance, even though i've promised myself and anyone who suggests that might be the case, that such a happenstance is as likely as bojo telling the truth.

however, in an almost perfect example of relativity, i have made an observation that offers some succour to the apparently disadvantaged. contrary to the apprehension that i might be inexorably slowing down, it's quite possible that it's not me, but them. the latter refers to my fellow peloton members, several of whom have taken to zwift as the proverbial duck to water. the marker for such measurement is the paper-run on friday afternoons.

that paper-run is of a definable distance, one which is relatively short and occupies the same parcours, week in, week out. and while i am usually to be found breathing through my ears, struggling to keep the rear tyre in front within sight, it transpires that it is not necessarily i who is slowing down, but my compatriots who are imperceptibly raising the bar. where once the sunday ride sported a leisurely average of between 22 and 23kph, and the paper-run a slightly more energetic 24kph, the former is regularly reaching 25kph and the latter occasionally topping out at 28kph. no matter which way you look at it, my aged constitution simply isn't built for numbers above 25.

however, i am consoled, for the time being at least, that i appear to be holding fast to the prize. granted, i may have to put in a greater effort than was once the case, effort that is undoubtedly purgatory at the time, but positively heroic when retold to mrs washingmachinepost later that same day. and provided i stick to kilometres instead of miles, any tales of derring-do related to the girls in the office, even sound marginally impressive to me.

maybe einstein was right after all.

saturday 18 december 2021

really?

you may recall, a few weeks ago, i reviewed a new pair of road shoes from the irrepressible quoc pham, remarkably light and comfortable footwear in which i expect to reach the same heights to which i have been accustomed. this, you understand, is no reflection on the shoes, but a state of affairs laid entirely at the feet of their wearer. however, those of us who have need of combining a sense of style with a large dollop of pragmatism, will almost always cover a white pair of shoes with water and windproof overshoes.

in fact, if i'm totally honest, even my considerably darker road shoes are frequently encased in overshoes at this time of year. you will probably have learned by now that agricultural regions, such as the hebrides, tend to plaster their many of their less trammelled road surfaces with muddy substances, thoughtfully less than evenly distributed by courtesy of some very large tractor tyres. i have lost count of the number of occasions on which mrs washingmachinepost has refused entry to the house until such time as my mud-encrusted footwear is removed.

however, that is pretty much by-the-by; my contention would be that quoc's footwear, and many other similar items available for velocipedinal activity, very much tend towards the lighter end of the spectrum. it s a specification that has doubltessly arisen from the average roadie's predilection with weight-saving. and though i'm insufficiently well educated as to engineering or principles of physics, it may be that feet can be regarded as 'rotating weight', and thus more benevolent towards forward movement when light as opposed to heavier shoes.

and you may infer from my covering these with overshoes, that their surface perforations are well-intentioned in the manner of ventilation. it may be pertinent that, while many purveyors of garmentage feature both spring/summer and autumn/winter ranges, footwear providers tend to err towards the well-ventilated featherweight, more pertinent in summer climes. which is a very long-winded way of pointing out that wearing shoes such as the white pair briefly described above, when perambulating the fictitious roads of watopia, should not be considered an onerous situation.

and that makes me a tad suspicious of the latest release from born-again cyclists, adidas. they have added to their minimal range of cycling shoes with the release of their snappily named indoor shoe. you may infer from the name, that these are aimed entirely at what adidas have described as the changing face of cycling. this, they say, "invites another section of the global cycling community to clip-in and get the most out of cycling, however and wherever they choose to.

that statement is a tad disingenuous when describing indoor specific cycle shoes. if they can be worn 'however and wherever', that would imply that they have proclivities outdoors as well as indoors; in other words: shoes. is it really necessary to produce cycling shoes specifically targeted at the indoor cyclist? does that impune that there are those who cycle nowhere else but indoors, sufficient in number to warrant a pair of £110 shoes? i do understand the ventilation aspect, and that they need be less resilient than footwear ridden on muddy hebridean roads, but if you had spent around £300 on a pair of regular cycle shoes, is there any advantage to be had in owning and paying for adidas' indoor shoes?

if that rings true, why stop there?

the couple who stay across the road from the croft own two mountain bikes, one of which is a recent purchase through the cycle-to-work scheme. these have sat in their front garden through both storms arwen and barra, while being doused with salt-laden precipitation in between. i dread to think in what condition they will be in a year or two. however, given that the average bicycle of whichever denomination has been built to survive in the great outdoors, is it not likely that it has been overbuilt for indoor use? and if there is an ever-increasing number of cyclists adopting the less than great indoors, is it not time that appropriate machinery be constructed for the purpose. perhaps from cardboard or knitted wool?

yes, one of the great joys of the festive season is the continued ability to practise one's cynicism.

image: adidias

friday 17 december 2021

the java jive

exactly one year ago, the price of arabica coffee on the open market, expressed in dollars per pound, sat at 124.4. a matter of days past, it had dramatically increased to 236.85, not far off double its 2020 price. that this latest price was actually a decrease from 249.7, demonstrates the fickle nature of what is commercially viewed as a commodity, yet which we consume almost on a daily basis without much thought for the supply chain. in truth, that's pretty much as it should be.

yes, we can express outrage at the price of that soya latte or double-espresso come the sunday coffee stop, but considering the dramatic rise in energy prices recently, it's only a shame that coffee can't generate electricity (three double-espressos and a ristretto notwithstanding). the graph expressing an almost steady increase in cost over the past year is testament to variations due to covid and subsequent supply chain excesses. it would be nice to think that the recent downward price trend will continue into the new year, but history is not on our side.

having only recently added focaccia bread as augmentation to any cup of coffee, the very fact that such an article could actually achieve even minimal traction in a blog allegedly concerned solely with road cycling, would indicate that coffee can be seen amongst the velominati as an important aspect of velocipedinal life. that's not to discount the continued importance of replacement cassettes and a new chain, but i promise, i'll get to it eventually.

what we rarely consider in our coffee fuelled dementia, is how those expensive beans make their way into our mugs, cups or takeaway cardboard. in the mid-nineties, mrs washingmachinepost and i were accustomed to holidaying in center parcs near nottingham. one of the food outlets contained within featured an elderly gaggia coffee machine, obviously built in the days before even semi-automation. the baristas charged with operating said machine seemed to have its idiosyncracies well-dialled, for out of several machines within the parc, its man and womanhandling, produced the best coffees available, with nary a push-button to be seen.

and though it could be a reality that the modern-day semi or fully automatic coffee machines should produce cup after cup of pristine brown liquid, it seems still to be the case that the contents of those tiny, heated cups are often at the mercy of whomsoever stands behind its trendy curves. former manager at ardbeg distillery, mickey heads, though hardly designated as the resident barista, was easily better at drawing a fine espresso, than those employed in the restaurant.

the daughter of an office colleague formerly worked in a small coffee shop a few metres from my computer chair. in conversation, one which involved mention of a ristretto, she said that the fellow charged with servicing the coffee machine and training the staff, had pointed out that, should anyone request such a powerful cup of coffee, it was a simple matter of pushing the button marked 'flat-white', but leaving out the milk component.

as one well-acquainted with a ristretto (a fine example ought to make your eyes water and your kneecaps crinkle), i have availed myself of several over the months, only to discover that, despite the avowed push-button simplicity, the final product still depended greatly on who pressed that button. who knew?

and that is currently where we stand as regards owning a personal coffee machine at home, warmed and ready to offer resuscitative properties on my return from the sunday purgatory. yet, there still remains a faint incentive to fill yet another corner of the kitchen worktop, with purchase options leaning heavily towards andrew meo's rocket espresso machines. but then again, the concern is that it's still likely to be the man or woman behind the designer machinery.

mr meo regularly attended london's rouleur classic, with two examples of his excellent coffee machinery, doling out free espressos to those with the nous to ask. i need hardly state that they met my specific criteria with aplomb. and now comes the news that 100 special editions of the hand-made r cinquantotto espresso machines are being made available to 100 members of rapha's cycling club, each bearing an exclusive, numbered nameplate.

and while i have great hopes that the price of arabica coffee will continue its downward trend, i'd be ever so grateful if the price of a rocket espresso r cinquantotto machine followed suit. for not only are prospective purchasers required to be fully-paid up rcc members, they will need a further £2735 for one of these limited edition machines.

a guy can dream can't he?

thursday 16 december 2021

shine on you crazy diamond

i can only admit that i have watched but two cyclocross races this year, both won very convincingly by wout van aert. in fact, the first race, held in boom, featured wall to wall mud, with the combatants recognisable only by their placings across the finish line; jersey designs were obliterated by a thick coating of brown. as van aert crossed the finish line, some two minutes ahead of second place, he attempted to wipe the front of his jersey to show off his jumbo-visma sponsors, but to no avail.

by the time youtube had a selection of post race interviews, however, the top three finishers were pristine in their resplendency, disguising the one hour of mud infested purgatory they had suffered for their (van) a(e)rt. obviously enough, the top riders would have brought a wardrobe change for just such a victorious possibility, but i'd dearly love to know whether the also-rans bother too much.

the rules of cyclocross allow for pit stops, a changing of bicycles, should any mechanical malfeasance or accumulation of mud render the first choice unrideable, or certainly harder to ride than competition demanded. i'd imagine the sponsored professionals are in possession of truckloads of bicycles, all prepared within a centimetre of their lives should their services be demanded. i'm led to believe that there can even be machinery available from the pits that differs from the main bike solely in tyre pressures, should course conditions demand.

though i once followed jeremy powers' instructions and advice to the letter in order to finesse my mounting and dismounting technique (which, for a brief period of time, i actually achieved - my achilles heel was clipping in), i have grave doubts that i would ever have the ability to discern between tyre pressures that may differ by only one bar of pressure. and, building on that, i'm also quite sure that i'd struggle big time to choose the optimum pressure in the first place. but then that's probably in the manual when you become a cyclocross professional in the first place.

however, aside from admiring the speed and skill with which the riders swap from one bike to the next in the pit lane, i have great admiration for the pit crews, who seem total experst at turning a large lump of mud with two wheels, into a showroom model within a single lap. yes, i do realise they have pressure washers at their disposal just out of camera shot, but the skill and alacrity with which they carry out their designated task, is no less impressive than the 'cross skills demonstrated by the riders which they serve.

which, i believe, bears comparison with our own aptitude for similar tasks taking place on the workstand not a few hundred centimetres from the bike shed. i sincerely hope that i'm not going to show myself up as a complete laggard, when i admit that only during chain lubing, do i give the frame, cranks and derailleur a cursory wipe down with an old bath towel. and not even a bath towel made by karcher. this past summer did not place great strain upon my minimal and rudimentary bike-cleaning propensities, but with the arrival of winter storms, heavy rain and various agricultural activities, which i am reliably informed are absolutely necessary, on returning to the croft, post-ride, there are few portions of the ritchey or specialized devoid of grime.

propriety would dictate that i really ought to knuckle under with that bath towel, and have the cycle gleaming in the noonday drizzle, but when i'm cold, muddy and wet on my return, i'm afraid it's all about me. that nothing equitable ever happens to the bicycles is forcibly demonstrated when retrieving either of them from the bike shed one week later. it's a situation of which i'm not proud. and though purchase of a karcher has been considered on more than a single occasion, considering is as far as its got.

i should, no doubt, take heart and hint from the release of a complete set of bicycle brushes from peaty's, probably intended more for the offroad than on-road rider, but a useful array nonetheless. this set consists of four individual brushes, one of which is disconcertingly named the bog brush, each specifically designed to achieve cleanliness in a different nook or cranny from one end of the bicycle to the other. according to peaty's, the set was designed to " ...overcome all of the issues and frustrations riders currently experience from all of the similar products already available." a somewhat damning sideswipe at whomsoever they consider to be their competition.

but for all their chutzpah, i fear the chaps and chapesses at peaty's have fallen at the first cyclocross hurdle, by framing their environmentally friendly prowess, stating that this set of products, "make cleaning your bike an absolute joy."

nope, me neither. but for those who believe joy can be achieved in such a manner, the set currently shows as sold out on peaty's website, with new stock not expected until mid-way through january.

peaty's bicycle brush set

wednesday 15 december 2021

not by bread alone

there are probably as many explanations as to why cycling is seemingly interlinked with coffee, as there are cyclists in the first place. a commonality, however, amongst the wide-ranging conjecture is that of italy, from whence cometh the majority of naming rights, such as espresso, cappuccino, ristretto, etc., and i'm well aware that my own interest in the coffee stop arose from owning an italian built frame. however, i cannot deny that the connection existed long before it sprung to the mind of yours truly.

my own theory, expanding on that briefly outlined above, revolves around the desire of british cyclists (and american, come to that) to own much sought after italiana to populate the local peloton. it seems less than half a step to extend that italian love to at least one habit ascribed to the population of said country. thus, it would have been scarcely sufficient for 1950s -60s uk cyclists to own a steel frame emblazoned with bianchi, colnago, pinarello, gios et al, without adopting external justification for their choice. particularly when there were several desirable, locally-built frames on offer.

and in those early, post-war years, it would be scarcely only the downtube marque responsible for adoption of attributes that were possibly seen as a tad eccentric down the pit, in the steelworks or the hustle and bustle of the office. though shimano produced their first derailleur in 1956, campagnolo was still the componentry of choice for at least the following two decades, encouraging acquisition with names such as croce d'aune, the sort of nomenclature that could easily be dropped into conversation while sipping a double-espresso, if indeed the latter could be found on this side of the channel at the time.

those distanced observations, several decades on from faema's sponsorship of eddy merckx - another reason cited as a tangible connection between cycling and coffee - seem every bit as legitimate as any others, and it's perfectly possible that the true reason will never be known. modernity, in the shape of starbucks, costa and caffe nero, has made designer coffee every bit as much a part of daily life as the velocipedinal cognoscenti's predilection for a double-espresso prior to the grand départ. in fact, it may make for a far more intriguing and readable article to investigate the rise and rise of high street designer coffee and why it can seem even more popular with office boys and girls than with followers of the yellow jersey.

however, in the light of the latter and acceptance of same, there's possibly an unrequited desire to place cycling, or more accurately, cyclists, once again upon the moral high ground. it would seem a tad childish to randomly look to countries other than the one that gave us the double-espresso in the first place; to do so would seem a lot like needy desperation. coffee, by all accounts, is the ultimate shizzle, so an alternative drink seems out of the question, entailing a quick look around for a different form of italiana.

and i believe i may have found the answer.

when mrs washingmachinepost and i moved to the village of bowmore well over thirty years ago, there was a local bakery situated near the harbour. as with any bakery, they featured a variety of breads, biscuits, cakes and most memorably, home-made pizza slices (yet more italiana). sadly, that bakery closed down many, many years ago and we've had to survive more mass-produced fayre from the averagemarket ever since.

however, light at the end of the tunnel arrived almost unseen only a matter of week's past, when the proprietor of a local fish and chip outlet extended his services to the building next door, in the shape of a fully-formed bakery. this offers facilities to have a cup of coffee along with your choice from their display cabinets, though the liquid refreshment scarcely compares to that of debbie's in bruichladdich. however, one of the breads on offer i last enjoyed from the beaverton bakery franchise in portland airport, oregon.

warm focaccia.

the name is reputedly derived from the roman definition of 'hearth bread'; panis focacius. and if it's roman, it's obviously italian, and if it's italian, it must be the ideal accompaniment to a ristretto or double-espresso. though the local product began the week but a pale and slightly oily replica of the real thing, by week's end it had turned into an italian delight that forms the perfect companion to a decent cup of black coffee, presenting the infinite possibilities that undoubtedly lie ahead.

you're welcome.

tuesday 14 december 2021