We travelled to Belgium last year for the press launch of the latest incarnation of Shimano’s range-topping mechanical groupset, Dura-Ace 9000.

A few months later, a journey to France and to Cyfac followed, inspiring my own Victor Kiam moment. While making a bid for the company would have been extravagant (and difficult to explain to my significant other), I was so impressed by the craftsmanship witnessed in the Loire, I decided to part with my own hard-earned cash and put the measurements taken on our factory visit to good use by ordering a custom Absolu V2. Gulp!

Cyfac Absolu V2 and Shimano Dura Ace 9000 united

When the fruits of Cyfac’s labours arrived, a frame built entirely to my proportions and specification with a carbon tube selection tuned for longer rides and hill climbing, and a geometry intended for use with a 120mm stem, we finally had a chassis appropriate to the testing of Dura Ace 9000 componentry. A quick call to our friends at Shimano and their UK distributor, Madison, to belatedly accept their offer of a Dura Ace 9000-series test, and, hey presto, frame and components are united. Regular readers will be familiar with the RCUK Test Rig. Today, we present the RCUK Race Rig.

Our previous acquaintances with Shimano Dura Ace 9000 had left us impressed, but had finished too quickly as the test bikes on which it arrived were returned. The Cyfac build offered the first opportunity for detailed consideration of the evolution from its predecessor, Dura Ace 7900.

The chainset has been the focus of much early attention with the removal of the fifth arm, creating a distinctive look. Shimano’s technical bods have studied the forces and pressure we exert on the chainrings through the crank arms and ascertained that they can easily shed some weight by removing the arm (we are told 52 grams), while maintaining, and indeed improving, the rigidty of the unit. All in all, excellent work. Interestingly, the same cranks can now take the full selection of front rings with no changes – so you can switch between standard, compact and TT setups with no issues.

At the front end, the STI lever hoods have been reduced in size to make them more easily gripped, and more akin to their Di2 cousins. The lever stroke has been reduced, which means that the throw required to change gear is shorter. This is certainly a great improvement over 7900, which in comparison to other systems felt woolly and strangely remote. The 9000 shifting, however, is super slick and very precise – you would almost think that it was being done hydraulically rather than mechanically. It has a certain button-like quality about it, which is engaging and easy to use. The use of polymer-coated rather than PTFE shrouded inner cables is no doubt a contributing factor.

The Dura-Ace 9000 brake caliper offers central or dual pivot mounting

The same coating is also present on the brake cables, and in the braking department great things are promised. The change to a unique dual pivot design that mounts onto the usual conventional single bolt point is a large step forward and the is improved modulation and increased power. For new frames that can accept direct mounting, the single plate at the rear disappears and the dual pivot points become brake mounts.

At the rear, the RD-9000 derailleur is shifting a slimmer  and now non-directional (hooray!), PTFE coated chain across the 11-speed block. There’s plenty of titanium on show at the rear, with all the sprockets from the 16T upwards being made of the magical metal. Shimano describe the rear derailleur as having a wider pivot mechanism for improved and more consistent shifting through the life of the groupset. That sounded like good news to us, and early rides have revealed that the lever stroke is just as easy and light at the top of the block, as it is at the bottom. There is no discernible stiffening in the shift as you climb.

The front mech now has a rather tall and elegant pull arm that has massively improved the action; at the lever end, you feel more connected to the shift while retaining the light action Shimano are so keen on.

The bottom bracket has been tweaked in a minor way to improve the sealing, and this has reduced the drag.

After an aborted run out on a prototype set of Dura Ace C50 clincher wheels, it’s been brilliant to be have put some miles on what we hope will be magnificently versatile C35s that sit perfectly in the Cyfac. The alloy braking surface with carbon profile is a perfect combination of wind cheating aero and climbing speed. The C35‘s have a radially laced, 16 spoke front wheel and 21 spoke rear, with the non-drive side placing seven of the 21 in radial formation, with the remainder in a two-cross pattern. Weight wise, at just over 1600 grams, these wheels are not setting the world on fire, but are no slouch, especially with the soft nosing of the carbon for the spoke bed and aero potential.

The soft nosing of the carbons spoke bed on the Shimano Dura Ace C35 rim provides aero potential

Of interest to me has been a change back to Shimano SPD SL pedals, a long time user of Look KEO’s. The carbon body and stainless steel plate on the Dura Ace pedals provide a stable platform and the two sets of ball bearings combined with a roller bearing should give longevity to the system.

Finally, the Vibe 7S handlebar in 40cm flavour is connected to the carbon steerer with matching 7S stem. The puzzle-clamp design is one we like, and it is our first proper introduction to the ingenious system. Impressions have been favourable: not only ours, but others too – many and admiring look has been cast at the clever stem.

Cyfac Absolu V2

A final word on the chassis on which the Race Rig’s chassis. The team in the Loire pride themselves not only on the quality of the frames they build, but also their ability to finish the creation in whatever paint scheme you fancy. The temptation for some people is clear, and it is certainly possible to go completely bonkers with colours, transfers, masking, spraying and blending.

Super gloss black logos decorate the lower third of the frame and fork

However we felt that a calm and subtle finish would best highlight the excellent build quality. A generally matte carbon finish with super gloss black logos and across the bottom third of the frame and forks, we then added a white stripe right through the head tube, along the top tube and up the seat mast, before finally finishing the colour scheme with some white highlights on the inside of the fork and wrapping around the inside of the chainstays. Extra finishing touches include a tricolore at the bottom bracket, and all the signatures of the team that built and sprayed the frame.

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Website: Shimano
UK distributor: Madison
Website: Cyfac
UK distributor: Velobrands

A few kilometres earlier, however,  my legs hurt, my hands hurt – everything hurt. I’d lost a contact lens behind my eyeball and I felt like sitting on the side of a French farm track and having a quiet moment with myself.

The Paris-Roubaix Challenge, a sportive based on the legendary spring Classic, is a ride that can span the entire spectrum of emotions within 170km.

The sweet rewards of completing the Paris-Roubaix Challenge

I knew it would be tough: 170km is a fair distance, after all, and the cobbles would surely take no prisoners. The day’s constant headwind didn’t exactly help but it was still a great ride.

It started badly with a 4am alarm call and a battle to get some porridge down my throat before a dawn coach trip to the start. As we got our bikes out of the admittedly brilliantly-packed coach trailers, there was an air of expectation as we shivered in two-degree temperatures.

The start in Busigny was somewhat of an anti-climax as we rolled out of the village in ones and twos, and began our adventure on surprisingly rolling roads. As ever, the organisation was great, with marshalls and gendarmes in plentiful supply at road junctions. Later on, the food stops were overflowing with bananas and waffles.

Among the various languages there was a fantastic camaraderie as riders passed and were passed as we neared the first pavé section. Soon, the air would turn blue in even more languages as the first cobbles hit. I’ve ridden Flandrian cobbles a few times and, to me, when climbs are involved, the ride is as hard as you make it. However, the flatter roads and pavé sections of the Roubaix Challenge I think are arguably harder – you know you need to hit the cobbles as fast as you can but you lose speed so quickly. I felt like a cartoon character, amusingly lassoed by someone behind me as my speed fell away.

Some of the names of the pavé sections were familiar as we slowly ate into the distance. The most feared, however,  the Arenberg Forest, was one we knew would spit us out with 100km of the ride still to go. You can see the mine workings from miles away, and the train crossing barrier emerges as you approach. I felt like a hero as I hit the dead straight section, passing the cheering folk at the side of the road.

At various stages over a Leffe the previous night, we decided that we really should ride as much of the cobbled sections as possible rather than ‘cheat’ and ride the smoother gutter or grass to the side. This high-minded attitude soon deserted us as we darted for any smoother surface we could see. In general, in the dry it was better to ride the central ‘crown’ of the cobbles. However, with so many other riders this wasn’t always possible. While I love all the tech articles about the measures taken by pro mechanics and manufacturers to combat the pavé, it’s always going to be hard!

After a few hours, the ‘distance covered’ reading on my Garmin computer gradually caught up with the ‘average heartrate’ number so I knew I was getting there (I love it when you set yourself a target distance to treat yourself to your last bit of food from the back pocket). Suddenly, I saw the section of pavé that we had ridden in our Friday recce and I knew this was our last section: one that that led to the final 10km into town. All of a sudden, the pain subsided and the banter ceased with the locals with whom I’d ridden in a mini grupetto. The ‘wannabe pro’ feeling was spoiled a little, however, by being held up at traffic lights as we neared the velodrome.

Up ahead, I could see our final signpost pointing us to turn right onto the track itself. It is amazing how much energy you can suddenly find when you know you are within the final kilometre: the track felt velvety smooth compared to the previous 169.5km, the finisher’s medal felt like a victory, and the local beer in a plastic cup at the finish tasted like nectar.

My advice to those considering the Paris-Roubaix Challenge next year? Do it. Sometimes you will hate it, but the majority you will love. I have watched pro racing since family holidays as a toddler but have rarely felt such admiration as on the next day when I saw the speed at which Taylor Phinney led the bunch through Arenberg.When an Orica-GreenEDGE rider stopped at the entrance to the forest and turned his bike around muttering under his breath, however, I knew exactly how he felt.

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The Limburg capital played host to the forty-eighth Amstel Gold Race, the eleventh event on the 2013 UCI WorldTour calendar, its picturesque Markt Square dominated by giant buses brightly painted in the colours of the global corporations who lavish fantastic sums each season on the simple, but compelling spectacle of bicycle racing.

Professional cycling, even at its pinnacle, belongs to the fans

The technology purchased with such investment was evident not only in the high-tech machinery on which the riders competed, but also in the fleets of gleaming support vehicles, the roofs of which sprouted mushroom-like antenna amid a dense foliage of spare bikes and wheels. A giant video screen relayed events from the stage to the thousands gathered in the square, behind whom  a squadron of police motorcycle outriders awaited its cue. A helicopter soon flew overhead, providing an immediate visual reference for the position of the riders on a parcours whose 251km unfurled within a compact, 30km radius. Staging a race of this scale is a challenging, and above all, expensive exercise.

Athletes competing at the pinnacle of other sports are increasingly isolated from those whose support funds their existence; not so with cycling, where the riders who conetested arguably the biggest sporting event in Europe on this second weekend in April climbed aboard their machines and pedaled the short distance from bus to stage, slaloming around the spectators until the crowds become too dense and they were forced to tip-toe their way through the narrow channels that opened up before them. Within seconds, they appeared on the stage and on the big screen; a surreal juxtaposition between live and mediated event (one repeated at the end of the day when the riders who had abandoned drifted in front of the big screen at the top of the Cauberg).

None were excused the sign-on ritual. Philippe Gilbert, twice a winner at Amstel, stepped purposefully from BMC Racing’s black and red behemoth. The stage lay to his left, but the world road race champion, resplendent in the rainbow stripes, turned hard right as he stepped from the bus, and dutifully made his way along the front row of a crowd of spectators ten deep, smiling and signing autographs, before boarding his bike.

Pre-race favourite, Peter Sagan, unmissable in lime green, almost rode across my foot as he left the small enclosure in front of the Cannondale bus to ride to the start line. “Bye, bye, bye, bye, bye,” yelled his mechanic, but this was no cheery farewell; rather, an incitement to the spectators to stand back. His words fell on deaf ears. Sagan’s progress was halted almost immediately by two teenagers silently proffering clipboards and pens. If the behaviour of the riders was refreshing, it owed much to the fans. The enthusiasm of the young was tempered by respect; the older spectators, seasoned observers, one imagines, who will have watched the fortunes of generations of lean, young men played out before them, werre friendly, not awed.

Rows of sophisticated and fragile racing bicycles, each worth thousands of Euros, remained untouched, despite standing within touching distance. They were admired and inspected, often at close range, but the unspoken rule (“look, but don’t touch”) remained unspoken. There were interesting sights for the connoisseur, chief among them, Nacer Bouhanni’s Lapierre Xelius, its tiny frame combining with a sprinter’s taste for a long handlebar stem to create a machine of outlandish proportions. It is a position that works for the French champion: stage wins already this year at the Tour of Oman and Paris-Nice attest to that.

The preliminaries, by themselves worth the trip, soon ended, and the race began. The time-honoured dramas of road racing were replayed: the early, but doomed breakaway, scenes of camaraderie amid the rivalry (Team Sky’s Jon Tiernan-Locke handing a musette to a NetApp-Endura rider at the foot of the Schweibergerweg), the decisive move made while the favourites watched each other – all unfolded beneath long-overdue sunshine and in temperatures of 25 degrees. Hair-raising drives across country placed me at the roadside as the riders passed on nine occasions; others achieved the same result by bike, and many of those, your correspondent included, were among the thousands who gained a taste of the parcours the previous day in the Amstel Gold sportive.

Limburg is a beautiful region steeped in cycling history; Valkenburg and its infamous Cauberg climb, the jewel in its crown. Amstel Gold is the youngest of the Ardennes Classics, and not located even in the Ardennes; its importance to cycling in the Netherlands, however, cannot be overstated. Thousands lined the Cauberg for the dual ascent debuted at this year’s race. The efforts of the local heroes fell short: there was no victory for Blanco Pro Cycling (except perhaps in the unofficial competition for most elegant team bus). Gilbert, a Walloon, failed to reprise his world championship-winning effort on the Cauberg and claim a third Amstel in four years. Everyone, however, left happy; even, seemingly, the exhausted riders who drifted back to the team buses physically broken, but, for the most part, smiling. Professional cycling, even at its pinnacle, remains a sport, rather than a business, and as fans, able to get close to those talented enough to live our dreams, we should be pleased.

RoadCyclingUK travelled as a guest of Belgian bike brand, Ridley, supplier to the Lotto-Belisol UCI WorldTour team.

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As a youngster, alongside the supercar posters on my wall, there were always images of a muddy Sean Kelly in the Spring Classics.

My first racing jersey was an exceedingly itchy Skil team replica, received when I was about 11-years-old. This was the garment I was wearing when I had my first proper crash as I daydreamed about sprinting against my Irish hero.

Stu’s treasured Skil jersey and his trusty S2

Nowadays, I can relive my youthful dreams on a greater stage. Many of the bigger races have their own sportive: l’Etape, the Ronde, and many more. I’ve had the chance to do ride the Tour of Flanders sportive on two occasions now, and have relished the experience. I may have been a little slow-motion compared to the professionals racing the following day, but, speed aside, I felt just like my heroes.

This year, our group of riding pals will take on the Paris-Roubaix Challenge. For me, the race has always lived up to its title, the Queen of the Classics.

Often held in grim conditions, and with crashes galore, the goal of entering the Roubaix velodrome having survived the fearsome cobbles is, understandably, enough for most. Those able to triumph in such a brutal environment (including my man Kelly, on two occasions) are a breed apart.

Each year, I devour articles on how pro mechanics tweak their riders’ machines to combat the conditions. Many of us won’t have the luxury of different bikes for different events, so it’s a case of making small changes to your bike to help you in the Hell of the North. No lesser authority than Sir Dave B tells us it’s all about ‘marginal gains’, and let’s face it, he knows a thing or two about winning bike races.

I’ll be aboard my trusty Cervelo S2, perhaps not an ideal bike for cobbles, but I’m hoping a series of small changes will help me.

Wheels are surely the key to successfully tackling the cobbled sections. For me, it will be all about enjoying the event, stretching the legs if possible, but crucially doing what I can to prevent punctures and mechanicals. I always used to race on tubulars and still convince myself of their ‘superior’ feel. There’s also the advantage of increased resilience to punctures (author touches wood quickly). The Paris-Roubaix Challenge is a sportive, not a race, despite the hoards of competitive types who will doubtless descend upon it.

Stu has plumped for a 25mm tyre for his Roubaix Challenge

I’ve plumped for a Continental Competition tub in its 25mm flavour – a little extra width will certainly help, as will a squirt of Revo sealant inside. If asked to call upon my limited experience of riding cobbles for advice on tyres, I would recommend fitting a wider tyre than usual to provide some cushioning on the rougher surface. Always check for frame clearance, however. Many pros use a 27mm tub, but these may be used in tandem with a custom frame.

Another of my abiding memories of Flemish cobbles is the detritus that you see as soon as us ‘sportivists’ hit the rough. You are soon dodging bottles, cages, seatpacks etc. I tend to use a more traditional metal bottle cage like the Elite Ciussi Gel to help keep your drinks in place. Yes, there are feed stations en route, but a secure bottle cage is a must.

The extra layer of bar tape is another common tweak, certainly on the tops of the bars, but essentially in your preferred position Adding gel padding to try and alleviate the extra vibration caused by the agricultural surface is perhaps also worth the investment.

Although I’ve ridden Flanders twice now, everything I’ve read suggests that the cobbles that pave the route to Roubaix will be bigger and harder to ride, so a little extra bike prep can help me to feel like Kelly. I recently found my Skil jersey, but getting inside it for my own l’enfer du Nord maybe a greater Paris-Roubaix challenge.

Where have you been, my solar chum? Too infrequent a visitor to these shores, the sun’s absence is quickly forgiven, such is the bountiful nature of its return, transforming the landscape from grey morass to kaleidoscope.

Once murky streams glitter, the fields glisten with sudden verdancy; even the bricks of a certain country pub seem somehow redder, the slate roof darker.

There is nothing I would rather do today than ride my bike. It is cold in the shade, but what do I care? I am wrapped up warm, in De Marchi winter kit, since you ask, the helmet liner as suddenly superfluous as the mudguards on the RCUK winter bike.

The wind is behind me for much of a ride bathed in the most glorious (whisper it) spring sunshine, making today’s conditions as close to perfect as I’m likely to experience on an island north of Continental Europe.

I wouldn’t have expected the Easter holiday to have reduced traffic on rural roads, but it has. Normally quiet lanes are today absolutely deserted, mine entirely: mile after mile of glorious tarmac, some potholed, some billiard table smooth, but all suddenly sleek beneath a sheen of reflected light.

There are other cyclists on the road, sneaking in a ride, perhaps in an extended Easter holiday, perhaps not. The sun has brought them out, without question. The resigned nods of the previous weeks have been replaced by smiles. “Look at us,” is the unspoken message, “living the dream!”

The heroics of the Classics hardmen are best enjoyed from the comfort of home, I find. Riders deployed to the Vuelta Ciclista al Pais Vasco have surely drawn the long straw offered by their teams. Today, England took a share of the sunshine illuminating the Basque Country. Let’s hope for more.

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This ability may have vital secondary applications: buying time for world leaders negotiating to avoid global conflicts; allowing emergency crews an extended period to respond to 999 calls; affording an opportunity for previously helpless breakfasters to intercept slices of toast on their once-unstoppable journey from plate to carpeted floor, one made, with crushing inevitability, butter-side down.

Soon after Peter Sagan wheelied across the finish line in Wevelgem, my thoughts turned to the Ronde. Could he simply ride away from his rivals at a ‘Monument’? How would Fabian Cancellara respond if he tried? Or would Tornado Tom Boonen, his season blown off course by the ill winds of accident, illness, and injury, yet provide sufficient turbulence to slow the progress of either in the sprint in to Oudenaarde?

Hapless sportivists are swept up by the Lampre squad, recce-ing the course for Sunday’s elite race

My wait is nearly over, but the intervening week has been interminable. De Panne provided sustenance, but only for three days. A steady flow of missives from the teams set to contest the Ronde, and of photo bulletins from our man in Flanders, have only increased my impatience for the race.

The latest batch of images from Stefano Sirotti show hapless sportive riders swept up by the WorldTour teams recce-ing the course for Sunday. Some struggle up the cobbled slopes on foot as the sleek professionals weave around them, visitors from another world.

Escaping the torment has not been easy. The talk in the café and in the bike shop today is of San Remo and Harelbeke and Wevelgem, and a now unavoidable showdown at the Ronde between the Slovak and the Swiss. Opinion is divided. Cancellara was formidable at Harelbeke, and came darned close at San Remo, say the supporters of Spartacus. Sagan is a phenomenon, say their opponents: an unstoppable force of nature, able to win at will.

Few speak of Boonen, and an increasing number back his team-mate, Sylvain Chavanel, to bag his first Classic. Tomeke himself has remained calm. No-one is unstoppable, he has said, pointedly. Confident that he has done the maximum to prepare in difficult circumstances, he will not attempt to be the strongest, only the smartest.

The peloton is unlikely to require road signs on sunday

Philippe Gilbert’s absence (he has a cold) has aroused little interest; the world road race champion remains, in the opinion of most, a man for the Ardennes. The jury remains out on the progress of Team Sky’s Classics squad. Most agree that Geraint Thomas is the man most likely, should Brailsford’s ever-broadening sphere of dominance encompass the bergs.

And so the minutes drag. Television coverage begins at 11am tomorrow (March 31). Do I have time to ride beforehand, or should some of the five-hour broadcast be sacrificed? Will a pre-Ronde spin sharpen my enjoyment of the race, providing one last reminder of the effort and skill required by those whose abilities far exceed my own? Decisions, decisions.

I will fill the intervening hours with Twitter and a consideration of the prospects of the main players. The Ronde Van Vlaanderen, a race whose very name is redolent of feats of determination and glory, is just one sleep away. Bring on the Ronde!

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Grey skies, a damp road, and a pessimistic weather forecast, combined with prospects for the vicarious pleasure of televised cycling from the infinitely more inviting climes of Catalunya would normally convince me to postpone riding plans for yet another day.

Winter’s stubborn refusal to depart, however, has already extended the resumption of regular miles for longer than I care to recall, begetting yet another disincentive: the prospect of riding with nothing in the legs. Catch 22.

Chapeau then for the company of a riding buddy in similar straits, his enthusiasm for the road sharpened by an unfortunate altercation with a set of rollers; one that almost terminated his hopes of parenthood.

Clad in numerous layers (merino base, Roubaix mid, softshell outer, and, for good measure, showerproof jacket) we crawl along suburban roads from the town to the countryside in conditions that threaten snow. The worst part of the journey (the countryside isn’t met until 10 miles into this regular loop, but the reward is worth the wait) passes quickly amid a caustic commentary on conditions.

It’s all good fun, of course: the darker the humour, the faster the miles pass, until, suddenly finding ourselves in the depths of the countryside, with nowt but fields as far as the eye can see, a dawning realisation strikes – it’s a beautiful day for cycling.

It’s not warm, of course, nor is it entirely dry, but it is far from cold, and a moist atmosphere is leagues clear of a downpour. The narrow country roads are free from traffic, the wheels whirr freely beneath us, and observations on life, the universe, and everything are exchanged with the freedom of old friends.

There are worse places to be on a Saturday afternoon. The misery of town centre shopping, the frustration of rail journeys made on a network beset with engineering work; even wallet-draining visits to coffee and bike shops are a pleasure to avoid on a ride made in spite of the conditions, not because of them.

The unmistakable lengthening of the days is also cause for good cheer. The desire, if not necessity, to be back on well-lit urban roads before darkness envelopes the countryside, the overriding consideration of rides in January, is now an afterthought. Daylight reigns these days until at least 6pm, and next week’s change of the clock will increase time in the saddle further.

Motivation can be hard to find amid the seemingly perpetual state of  winter gripping northern Europe (ask the boys contesting the Classics if conditions are any warmer across the Channel) but the companionship of riding buddies can provide the necessary get up and go to, well, get up and go.

It’s all too easy to give yourself the day off; harder, though, to cancel an arrangement made with others. Make a date, stick to it, and pull out your warmest kit – as much of it as you can find. The highlights from Catalunya will be that much more enjoyable with miles in the legs.

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Five minutes into the ride, less than a mile from home, and, uncharacteristically, but with good fortune, wearing a cap beneath my helmet, the rain poured down upon me, making a mockery of my mudguards.

Heavy rain leads to flooded roads and damp cyclists

The heavens opened with such promptness that the only positive I could draw from the deluge was that it would soon pass. Only a shower could maintain such ferocity, I thought, and pedaled on, consoled by the notion that dryer roads would surely lie ahead.

The feeling that rain will soon pass brings a certain pleasure. I am no longer the idiot in line for a three-hour soaking, but instead the dedicated athlete, unwilling to allow even the slightest interruption to his training.

Sure enough, within 10 minutes, and still a long way from soaked, the rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun. There was even a mild warmth to a sun suddenly revealed by shifting clouds, and what had started as an uneventful Saturday afternoon spin had turned in to a useful test of the kit in which I was attired.

As I pressed on through the next town and into the countryside beyond, I was no longer aware of the “what the heck is he doing?” glances from passing cars and pedestrians, and felt pleased to have survived my narrow brush with drowning.

My optimism was short lived, however. Deep into the countryside, the heavens opened again. I  shared a significant nod with two oncoming cyclists, a silent gesture of mutual respect, one whose subtext ran along the lines of, “Sure, there are easier ways to spend a Saturday afternoon, but loitering in a bike shop will always lead to purchases that are not strictly essential”.

A few miles further, and three more cyclists appeared on the horizon. I caught them easily,  and when passing, the reason for my ‘superiority’ became clear: they were touring cyclists of a certain age, an object of derision to my younger self, but now a beacon of hope: if I am riding in such beautiful surroundings and with such contempt from conditions in 30 years time, I will do so proudly.

We shared a wave and the camaraderie of fellow battlers against the weather. Our faces were stung by the velocity of the rain drops, but we would not be cowed. The show, or the ride at least, went on.

Regrettably, so did the rain. I placed my hands on the ‘tops’, balled my fists, and watched the water emerge in torrents. My gloves were literally wringing wet and my feet were more than damp. Wool socks were my only hope of retaining any sensation in my feet; mercifully, they lived up to the billing.

And then it stopped. The rain ended as if a tap has been turned, and, as on the previous occasion, sunlight emerged, drying me within minutes, and providing an unexpected warmth. I abandoned plans to cut short the ride, and continued along the drying, and inviting road ahead.

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In fact, I’m certain that I fit in with the majority of cyclists in at least one regard, and perhaps, more likely, in two key ways. Firstly, we all love riding bikes; probably any and all bikes. Secondly, and the main point of this blog, we can’t stop fiddling with bikes: everything has to be tweaked, customised, made your own.

The ultimate expression of this irresistible and at times expensive trait is achieved with a custom frame, but you can, of course, scratch the “fiddling” itch by choosing a frame and then gradually adding your choice of components. (A word of caution with this approach: it’s sometimes best to buy the parts before the frame. The presence of the chassis often tips the delicate balance of “component acquisition to bank balance stability” in the wrong direction….must resist…clicking the button…).

The arrival of Ritchey WCS Logic II bars has already elevated the Genesis Day One beyond its intended purpose as a pub/commuter bike

I’ve seen riders take delivery of a new frame, where the talk in the cafe has been of a build completed slowly, and with prudence, over the long winter months, only to find them at home in the shed the next week, frame in the stand and a collection of high-end componentry littering a work bench. We love it, and we can’t resist.

The other end of the spectrum (and I, dear reader, have also fallen into this trap) is to have a ‘project bike’. It could be a single-speed, a machine for commuting; it could be, as it was in my case, a “rat bike”- something you could ride to work, take out for a training ride on your own, maybe leave locked up at a pub.

It was supposed to be a workhorse, it was supposed to be built out of various leftover parts from other machines. It rapidly turned into something that crouched in the corner of the work shed with a collection of parts thrown at it that became a monster, demanding coordination and instructing me to procure new and matching parts: a Franken-bike, if you will. The upshot, of course, is the creation of a machine that can no longer  be left outside a pub: one that has become too precious, too personal.

With the lessons of history supposedly learned, I unboxed with glee my new Genesis Day One, which arrived the day after it was ordered from our friends at Madison, despite it being a purchase rather than a test bike, hopefully to become a stalwart on my new commute into central London. This is far from a “rat bike”, of course; it’s a head turner, no less, despite the relative lack of expense.

The itch emerged though. Normally riding 40cm bars, those supplied with the Day One were 42cm. My brain told me I could live with this; my heart wanted to make the bike mine. And so it begins.

Out with the old…new bars means removing old tape

A phone call to the good folk at Paligap followed, enquiring if they had any slim, 38cm dropped bars kicking around for sliding through London traffic without looking like a Shoreditch cycling fashonista. Of course they did, and having only requested a simple set of Ritchey Comp Logic alloy units, I was surprised and delighted to receive a set of the lighter weight WCS Logic II. Some geeky facts for those so inclined: the 7050 triple butted aluminum saves over 60 grams over the 6061 alloy used in the Comp Logics.

Is it a weight saving I’ll notice? Nope. Is it a change to make me more comfy on the bike? Well, yes, but only a little. More importantly the itch has been scratched. The Day One is now definitely ‘mine’, and that makes it all the more special. Now, can I leave it outside a pub? Arghh!

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Ritchey

Genesis Bikes

A mainstay at British mountain bike company, Orange, Michael is a passionate advocate for cycling and one of the nicest chaps you’ll meet in a day’s ride.

Orange has earned an enviable reputation in the world of mountain bikes, but Michael’s enjoyment from all forms of cycling was obvious as he showed photos on his i-Phone of the road loops he rides near his home in Penrith at the breakfast table.

Michael Bonney, Orange Mountain Bikes’ ‘lynchpin’ and a passionate advocate for cycling, who is in a critical condition in Newcastle Hospital Image: ©Orange Mountain Bikes

One of Michael’s former employees told me today that Michael had suffered serious injuries while cycling.

A statement on Orange’s website reports that Michael had been hurt while participating in the Eden Valley Epic sportive last Sunday (March 3). It reads:

“On Sunday, Michael Bonney, the lynchpin in all that is Orange, had a terrible accident whilst road cycling during the Eden Valley Epic. No vehicles were involved.

“He was airlifted to Newcastle hospital where he remains in a very critical condition.

“As most of you will be aware, Michael is an extremely popular person with huge amount of friends, and its impossible to pass on this news individually. Linzi has already been inundated with best wishes and its impossible for her to reply individually, so as he is a big advocate to social media, and after speaking with Linzi, we will keep you up-to-date through our Facebook page.”

Our thoughts are with Michael and his family. We hope he’s able to channel his enormous passion for cycling into fighting his injuries and staging a full recovery.

If you want to show your support for Michael, you can do so on the Orange Mountain Bikes Facebook page.

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