StreetCowboy

As far as I know it was fine, it got up and trotted off with not a word of complaint. They were all long gone by the time I figured out where I was.

I was still stiff and sore this weekend, so we had a gentle ride up and down the Federal Highway bike lane. My concussion seems to have affected my alertness, as, on the way to the start, I missed a red light until I was past it and half-way across the junction, realising I was wrongly watching the left filter light. The third and fourth cars stopped to allow me to sail through, waving apologetically. Later in the ride, I was lucky to escape riding over a monitor lizard I had not noticed sunbathing in the road - he and I were both grateful for his quick reactions as he scuttled off into the verge. My back is still sore from the previous week’s collision, but the grazes are healing up nicely, and my admiration for professionals who can jump straight back on the bike and finish the race has risen immensely.

The chain is brand new; the chain wheel has 18000 I’m on it. When I checked my notes, my previous chain wheel lasted 19000 km before I upgraded my group set to hydraulic brakes. I reckon a lot of the chain wheel wear happened in the last couple of thousand km; I was told this chain did not need replacing at 5000 km, but maybe I should’ve replaced it anyway, on the basis that it would definitely want replaced before 7500 km.

To celebrate the coronation of His Majesty Charles III, I had planned a 111 km ride via The Monkey Road to Batu Arang, and then plantation roads beyond Ijok. On the lovely hill after Batu Arang, I was doing about 60 kph when I saw the cows emerging from the plantation, and about 40 when we collided. Apparently the cow landed on top of me. I was sitting at the side of the road when I recovered consciousness, having spent the preceding ten minutes asking what happened. I’d have asked “Where am I?”, but I’m the navigator so I ought to know. When I remembered we’d been to Batu Arang, not Rawang, things began to become clear. My buddy helped clear up the debris, straightened my handlebars and we set off prematurely homeward. We stopped at the first service station to wash off the worst of the blood, and inspect the damage to my helmet. We came back down the main road to Sungai Buloh and took the train from there. I was happy to see train 12 was out and about, after getting its wheels turned, and quiet as a church mouse. By now, I was stiffening up “Maybe it’s rigorous mortis - you look like something from The Zombie Apocalypse” - nothing that six pints of cider wouldn’t… cure would be the wrong word… six pints of cider wouldn’t mask. I was sore when I woke up this morning. So now I’m waiting to get my cuts and bruises looked by a professional

Thanks! I had a look through my notes - this is my third chain since putting a new groupset on my bike, with approximate mileages 5,000 km 5,000 km 8,000 km, so I reckon a lot of the wear happened in the last couple of thousand km. I suffered a similar problem when I replaced my chain on my old shopping bike after about 5,000 km - the shop did not have a cassette in stock - so I bought a cassette at Decathlon. I guess I will just have to quarantine the big chain wheel until a replacement arrives.

My road bike went in for service, and I picked it up this morning, with its new handlebars, bar tape, gear cables and more relevantly, chain and cassette. It’s an 11-32 in lieu of the 11-28, so I was worried about the small - small. Some adjustment, and that was ok; the mechanic had warned me that the big chain wheel teeth were worn, and since the service the chain has started occasionally slipping under load - particularly big chain wheel to small cogs, no problem with small chain wheel. Based on prior experience, I asked the mechanic to tighten the rear derailleur tension, and I tinkered with the rear derailleur adjustment, which may or may not have improved, but not eliminated the problem. Any suggestions for optimisation, while I await a new chain wheel? I did not suffer chain slip before the service - problem may be new chain, old chain wheel

My road bike is in the shop for a service, new chain and cassette, so I was out on the shopping bike this Sunday. I’ve still not got round to fitting a bag, pump, tool, spare tube etc., and maybe my thinking of that was the trigger to suffering the first puncture in 1800 km on the way home. There was impending rain, so I advised my buddy, Captain Oates-like, “You carry on without me - I’ll walk to the station”. I might have been better walking back to the station where we had just crossed the highway, but that would have involved changing trains at the next station; and it’s always hard to set off walking away from home. A motorcyclist offered to help, if I had a spare tube (I did not) or to give me a lift, but I was not happy about carrying my bike over my shoulder on the back of a motorbike - and it was only a kilometre to the next station. I got there dry, but the train soon ran into torrential rain. My local station has no entrances; you have a choice of coming out into the shopping centre, or into the bus interchange some distance away in the wrong direction. I was slightly surprised to get no grief from security guards as I wheeled my bike through the shopping centre. It was still tipping down stair-rods as I emerged, and, as mentioned by our Consultant, there is no footpath route through the junction under the highway. By this time, the road was flooded ankle-deep, and my mood had changed from sanguine to surly. Luckily, for a lot of the route I could walk under cover in the 6-foot way, but in Kuala Lumpur, they involves a lot of steps and other obstacles. My buddy had been in the pub for more than a pint when I arrived, but he too had got caught in the stair-rods for the last couple of km. The puncture was quickly repaired this morning, due to a small glass fragment. And tomorrow I will attach an emergency bag, which I should’ve done months ago…

If your job is shaking hands, then your wage-payer comes second

Some people look on the Salvation Army as charity - I see it as something between insurance and investment.

The girls in the bars are not there for their own pleasure, but for their survival, and to look after their children. We can waste their time, or buy ladies' drinks to help them get by, or pass them money directly. My preference is to make sure that they are OK, and that they don't resent me as a cheapskate, in case - through drink or misjudgement - I ever come to rely upon their goodwill.

I would not be happy with one of my hosts being attacked

If I can be permitted a minor digression, I was working back in the day in Manchester, and, as you know, there was a ... as I tell this, I am wondering about the crediility of the story ... anyway, there was a hardware store at the approach to Picadilly Station, and perhaps I had gone there in my lunch hour, because for sure i recall the subsequent conversation as taking place at Oxford Road.... Anyway, with a bit of Errol Flynn fencing planned for the weekend, I had picked up a sledgehammer on my way home, and as I went down to the platform to be met with an announcement of train delays, a wag in the crowd cried out ":Steady on, mate, it's not that late!". Happy days, made happier by the selectiveness of our memories...

There are normal people who play most sports - probably even yacht racing and polo. But when it comes to fencing, who can resist the homonyms? No-one with a sledge hammer, I suggest.

Back in the day, the Duke of Hamilton took a visiting American - possibly a distant relative by marriage - on a tour round his estate. "Man, my ranch in Texas - it takes me two days to drive round it" "Aye, I had a car like that once, but my man Ian fixed it. Do you want him to help you out?"

You are right about the three musketeers. If we were to grade Australian films, then films sans Mad Max would have to be a pass / fail criterion. But on the specific topic of fencing, I think the Mad Max films - although Australian - have less fencing than for example, The Great Escape. Mel Gibson 0 - 1 Steve McQueen. He's not Rudolph Valentino, but few of us are.

Neither of us have improved it

What was the film in which the protagonists melted the stolen gold into Eiffel Towers? Another example of fencing gang aft agley…

What is your favourite fencing movie? Rabbit Proof Fence was pretty moving The Mask of Zorro was one of the first Douglas Fairbanks established the genre, but there are more recent. I like Snatch, which is loosely about fencing…

To celebrate the end of the Holy Month of Ramadan, I took a spin down by the railway to investigate some complaints about fencing, fully anticipating a swashbuckling encounter with the likes of the late Douglas Fairbanks, or Errol Flynn, or some other monochromatic swashbuckling hero of the past. My disappointment was none the less for it being completely expected; personally, I would prefer my property to be protected by Zorro’s Flashing Blade rather than stranded barbed wire, but The Corporation takes a less flamboyant view. On the way, I’d passed by my buddy’s house to pass over some new tyres (I have no pictures of the tyres, but you can Google Schwalbe Duranos for yourself) and to while away a few minutes of idle banter - we’ll timed to make sure I returned from my fencing excurSion at precisely beer o clock, and time for a pub lunch. I had misnavigated my way home to find myself on the DUKE highway, but with the light holiday traffic it was tedious rather than terrifying. The headwind up there is stronger than at ground level, and when I’d had enough I came back down to traffic light level to ride under the highway until we both joined the LDP for the last few km home. Or near enough home.

Almost all drivers are above average. Ask anyone.

If you are lucky you will find one; if not, buying it would be a waste of money

Better than walking with a limp and being fat

You can't ever go back.

The internet is a great tool for control. People can vent their spleen about the injustices of the world, and think that they have done their bit. Back in the day, we had to consider whether it was nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take up arms, and by opposing, end them. Now, we can pretend that a bit of bleating is the same as a sheepdog’s barking.

The guys at Giant replaced the two spokes under warranty when I brought it in for service. They couldn’t find a problem with the clicking bottom bracket - maybe it’s one of the RM10 pedals that’s at fault, and I’m glad to have the bike back, although it was nice cycling my road bike into the office - it is significantly sparkier up the hills.